


Forsaken - An Epic Battle Fantasy Fanfiction

by abaresque



Category: Epic Battle Fantasy
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Blood, Brawl Royale, Determination, Epic Battle Fantasy 2, Family, Fantasy, Friendship, Gen, Hope, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Prequel, Theories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-10 08:46:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 47,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abaresque/pseuds/abaresque
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Why must everything be taken from me...'</p><p>From a lost amnesiac,<br/>To the terrors of Brawl Royale,<br/>To the fascist monster his circumstances drove him to become.</p><p>--</p><p>He was completely torn.<br/>Torn from his previous life.<br/>He had no idea of who he was,<br/>No idea of his family,<br/>No idea of what the world was like.</p><p>--</p><p>Lance woke up, finding himself in the heart of carnage.<br/>He had no past.<br/>Only his present, and a possibly bleak future ahead.<br/>From the second he opened his eyes, it was completely evident.</p><p> </p><p>His world would never be the same.</p><p>And he would never get it back.</p><p>Ever.</p><p>--</p><p>A fanfiction of Lance's story from Brawl Royale to Epic Battle Fantasy II.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Authors Note/Foreword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: changed the rating a little, because I don't know if your definition of 'graphic depiction of violence' is the same as mine. welp.

This was meant to go up on Wattpad first, but I am a terrible artist with no time to design a book cover so I'm dumping this here first. 

I just happened to suddenly come up with a theory when I was wondering why are there so many people in Epic Battle Fantasy that looked like they came from 2000 BC and 3000 AD. Explains the time machine trash and partly how this book came about.

Everything from here onwards is a direct copy-paste of my drafts on Wattpad.

\--

 

This is a fanfiction dedicated to my friend, who introduced me to the beautiful world of Epic Battle Fantasy and kickstarted my love for writing with her constant updates of dragon stories, and also to the creators of Epic Battle Fantasy, for they are so terribly underappreciated and deserve so much more. 

This story takes place between Brawl Royale and Epic Battle Fantasy II, assuming that all the series' are in chronological order, and will focus mainly on these two instalments.

I have tried to follow the game and their events as closely as possible. However, I have not followed some story facts completely, and I will mention and explain each part that I have altered/added in/missed out. Note that the prologue does _not_ follow the series at all, and is my own concoction - the rest will follow pretty closely from chapter 2 onwards and whatnot.

If you like you can skip the prologue. Your choice. It is terribly written.

Lance, Matt, Natalie, Brawl Royale and the Epic Battle Fantasy series belong to Matt Roszak, aka Kupo Games.


	2. Prologue

The entire piece of technology was rattling violently, threatening to blow into smithereens at the slightest mishandling.

The time machine shot towards the twisting strings of merging timelines as they flew through the never-ending blue of the space-time warpzone, warnings blasting and red lights flashing all around Lance as he struggled to control the damaged machinery. The black hole that pulled all the neon strings together, each representing a different timeline, had become so dense, there was no way the machine, even with its powerful rockets, could escape it's wrath.

Tears stung the backs of Lance's eyes, his face tensed up as he gritted his teeth, his hand gripping the useless controls with all his might.

It was already proven by the world-renowned scientist.

Time travel would never be possible, and this was their punishment for trying to defy the laws of nature.

_Time travel will never be possible, as there would be many recurrences created in Space Time Continuation, and time itself will be destroyed if someone manages to come up with time travel. Take Time as a straight line. Every time you go back or forward in Time, a loophole will be created, and many loopholes signifying the next few times you will be travelling forward or backward in time in the past and future will be created as well. This will promptly destroy Space Time Continuation, and many black holes will be created throughout space, even on earth itself. Times will all merge together, which will destroy time, and may eventually lead to the complete obliteration of space._

Lance bit his lip.

_Why didn't I persuade him more..._

His vision blurred even further. His uncle, his only family left, lay dead like the rest of his bloodline, sprawled on the dashboard, his brains having been impaled by a flying screwdriver. He tried to persuade himself that his uncle, being one of the greatest thinkers in the country and knowing it, would not have listened to his thirteen-year-old nephew. However, his uncle was dead, no matter what.

And Lance considered it his fault.

Lance shut his eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek, a final cry escaping his throat.

'WHY MUST EVERYTHING BE TAKEN FROM ME?!"

With that, he was plunged into nothingness as the machine jerked and sent Lance flying, his head crashing into the ceiling, and the time machine collided into the mess of merging timelines.

The aftermath of wars, massive battles, nuclear warzones, people of every time and era, all coming together in a single, solitary second.

\----

The place was utter chaos.

Lance opened his eyes slightly, waiting for his vision to refocus. He felt slightly light-headed, and empty, as if something was missing.

A large hole had opened up in the strange machine he was in, and one of its two short wings had broken off, lying in a mess of crumpled metal and oil not too far away. Smoke poured from the broken engines below them, as did from the machine's dashboard.

However, that was not the centre of Lance's attention.

The sky was painted a coal black, clotted with grey smoke and lit up dimly by fires burning in the distance. Lance pushed himself up slightly, broken glass clinking against each other as he swept his hand across the metal floor of the ruined machine.

His mind was strangely clear. He felt hollowed out, like an empty clay statue that was suddenly brought to life. He only had his first name and his age. He had no idea of his past, or who he was. It was as if his memories had been knocked out of him during the assumed accident he had, and as soon as they hit the ground, they had evaporated, far and out of Lance's reach.

His finger touched something slippery and warm. He drew his hand closer, and noticed part of his hand was coated with drying, sticky blood. He looked up, following the deep, scarlet trail. He saw an old man, sprawled out face-down on the cracked, glass surface of what was once a dashboard, the tip of a long, bloodied screwdriver peeking out from the back of his head. His spectacles lay in a crumpled, shattered mess beside his head. He looked vaguely familiar, but Lance could not bring himself to remember whatever relation the man had to him.

Lance forced his stiff body up into a kneeling position, grunting from the effort. His shirt and red hoodie were torn and dirty, and his trousers were no exception. He stood up, his back cracking as if he had hadn't moved for a long time. Turning around, he caught sight of a slightly damaged red cap. He picked it up, trying it on. It fit perfectly, hiding some of his disheveled hair.

_I guess this must be mine then._

He scrambled out of the wrecked machinery, the metal and wires of it's frame twisted into hideous forms, casting eerie shadows across the barren, bloodstained ground.

As he looked around, Lance could not bring himself to think anything.

The horizon was carnage. The charred remains of buildings and trees lightly scattered the area, and all were coated with a thin, grey layer of ash. The land was dry, cracked and uneven, and small flames that remained from what was probably once a raging fire cast an eerie, red glow on the smoky clouds above.

Lance choked on breathing the polluted atmosphere. Everywhere, littered around here and there, were dead people, covered in their own blood and beginning to rot. He squinted his eyes slightly in disgust.

He began to scale the sickly horizon. All was silent except for the crunching of his shoes against hard, sandy ground and the crackling of fires in the distance. Every now and then, the creepy howl of a rogue animal would sound in the distance. Still, he felt no fear. He felt no emotion. He didn't feel human at all. He felt completely empty.

Suddenly, his boots kicked against cold flesh. He looked down, and saw he had stepped on a dead man's arm. The man's face was twisted out of fear, half of it covered in blood, almost as if he had been killed mid-scream. Lance took his foot off the man's wrist. Looking down, the man was holding the most peculiar weapon he had ever seen. Picking it up, he saw that it was a hybrid of a revolver and a blade, it's black, shining surface stained with a greenish slime. He pointed the weapon at a broken concrete building and pressed the trigger. The recoil nearly threw him off his feet, and the powerful bullet shot out of the barrel, crashing into the damaged building, exploding in a huge bomb, eradicating what little was left of it. Lance looked at it and shrugged.

_Finders keepers._

With that, he took one last look at his surroundings and strode on into endless carnage.


	3. --

FORSAKEN

fəˈseɪkən  
//adjective  
1\. To give up entirely (something once held dear).

2\. abandoned or deserted, left altogether and for good.


	4. I - Lost

_For it is your memories that make you who you are today_

_And without those memories,_

_You are not human._

\--Anonymous

\--

Lance kept walking. 

For the whole time he had been wandering, Lance had found hardly any food and no water. He had checked out some of the old houses, and found a few food items that had survived here and there. Majority had either rotted or had burned to charcoal, and most of the water in cups or open jugs had evaporated due to the heat. He was exhausted, the tip of his gunblade clattering against the ground as he dragged it, staggering along the cracked ground.

_What on Earth happened here..._

It seemed like three days already, but no one could tell, for the smoky dark clouds shielded the sun completely, the only light source being the red glow of fires that fed on what little evidence was left of human's existence. 

Suddenly, as he looked up, he spotted a house in the near distance. It was small, but largely untouched, the roof of one room and majority of its walls still remaining intact. He rushed forward towards the ash-coated house as fast as he could, hoping he could find any necessities that could aid him with his chances of survival.

He burst into the house, leaning on the edge of a broken, concrete wall as he nearly passed out from exhaustion. His vision was starting to blur, and his head throbbed.

Just then, he caught sight of a lidded glass jug. It sat atop a long, wooden cupboard, a clear liquid sparkling inside it in the dim light.

_Water..._

He scrambled forward, pulling off the lid. His hand shot back after he did so, the jug having been warmed significantly by the hot surroundings. He grasped the sides of the scratched jug, drinking straight out of it. He gulped as much as he could down, trying to rid his dehydration. The water was quite hot, but he didn't care. Water was water.

Thinking about it, he didn't know why he wanted to live so bad. That primal instict of survival simply controlled him, and he let it do so, bending to its will as he grasped at the jug, the water flowing down his parched throat.

Having finished everything, he slammed the empty jug back down on the long, wooden cupboard where he had found it. Suddenly, the whole thing crumbled beneath the jug, its contents spilling out in a mess of wood, dust, weapons and books. Dust clouded his vision.

Lance drew back as he nearly fell backward, slightly shocked. Rubbing his nose, he slowly placed the jug on the floor beside him, stooping down to assess the cupboard's contents.

Under all the dust, he caught a red glow and a glint of metal. He reached out slowly, picking up an enormous spear. The large, round stone in the centre of the large, gold spear tip glowed a fiery red, with golden points stretching outwards, making it resemble a sun. The spear tip itself was almost as long as Lance's forearm, and it looked as if it was made completely out of gold.

Lance waved the huge spear around clumsily, breaking a few things in the process. Its weight was surprisingly light in contrast to its size. Lance took one last look at it, and he slung it over his back.

_No harm done collecting extra weapons._

He remembered something about knives and the sort having the ability to increase his chances of survival by nearly three times if he was in the forest, but the problem was that he was far from finding a decent forest or jungle. He had no idea where his information came from, but he listened to his will. Thinking of collecting more knives or anything sharp, he knelt down on the ground, and he continued rummaging through the wood and junk. He shoved away a pile of thick, leather-bound books, and another cloud of dust billowed in front of him. Stifling a sneeze, he waved his hand in front of his face before sweeping a hand through the cupboard's contents. Suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through his hand, and jerking it back, he realised he had cut himself mildly, fresh blood trickling down his fingers. 

He looked back at the broken cupboard. As the dust cleared, he spotted another glint of metal. He picked up a silver sword, and like the spear, the blade was lightweight. Seeing he was extremely at risk of getting killed in the terrain he was in, he took the sword and placed it on his lap. The more weapons he had, the better. He continued to search through the remnants of the wooden cupboard.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. 

_Those books may be able to help me on surviving in this horrid place._

Seeing that he had no fighting experience, learning to use a few weapons in the situation he was in might actually help him a lot. Say a random animal found him and decided he looked tasty, Lance could fend it off using whatever skills he might learn. He would need to learn how to find food, and most importantly water and shelter. Lance immediately went along with his idea.

Another howl sounded in the distance as he pulled out a random book, one of the thickest, and to his mild delight it was on **_Fighting, Survival and Worst-case Scenarios_**. Lance opened it, flipping through the pages and reading as fast as he could, absorbing as much information as possible.

Some time passed, and Lance sat there cross-legged, his sword and spear beside him, almost halfway through the book. He finally felt relaxed, knowing that he might have a higher chance of survival now that he had some knowledge on how to survive. Strangely, from nowhere, a twinge of reminiscence poked at him, but he forced himself to ignore it, finding his book more important than anything for now.

Suddenly, there was a howl just outside the house. 

Lance froze, a jolt of fear temporarily paralyzing him. He shut the book quietly as carefully as he could, slowly placing the thick book on the ground.

His hand trembled, partly from fear and from the weight of the book. Suddenly, his hand slipped, and the thick book fell to the floor, the muffled, resulting 'thump' resounding throughout the whole house. Lance winced. Almost immediately, he heard scruffling and a growl. Lance's heart nearly skipped a beat, and he held his breath. He took up his sword, standing up slowly, facing the entrance. 

The growl increased in volume.

Lance slowly walked forward, facing the broken opening where a door had once stood. Just then, a silver wolf appeared in the entrance. Its dark, bottomless eyes looked like they emmited evil , black stripes adorning the tip of its tail and limbs. As it walked, it left a trail of frost behind that quickly dissipated due to the heat. Almost immediately, Lance felt the temperature of the room decrease slightly. 

_What is this?_

Lance held up the blade, facing the wolf. The wolf growled, and jumped at him without warning. Lance stepped to his side out of fright, swinging the blade in front of his face, and the wolf flew past Lance as his blade nicked it's side. Dark, silver blood spilled from the wound. Some _mutant wolf,_ Lance thought to himself as he wiped some of the wolf's blood off his arm. It howled, landing on the ground behind Lance. Lance planted his feet to the ground, facing the wolf again, preparing himself for its next attack.

The wolf growled.

It pounced.

Lance held out his sword, ready to stab its heart. However, the wolf glowed, changed its trajectory and landed in the floor in front of Lance, disappearing into the wooden floorboards as it passed through.

_What?!_

A split-second later, a small iceberg sprouted from where the wolf had landed, throwing Lance off his feet. He landed painfully on the ground, and he shivered as he felt his body temperature decrease significantly. 

_This isn't possible - but then again, I'm seeing it with my own eyes..._

Lance picked himself up, just in time to see the wolf leap out from the ground again, it's fur coated with a thin layer of frost. Lance charged at it, raising his sword just before it could react.

_Swing from your shoulders, and not your wrists or your elbows._

The statement from the book jumped at him, and he followed exactly as it said. He swung his sword, the blade slicing through the creature's abdomen. The wolf gave a howl as it flew backward, silver blood spraying from its wound before it crashed into the ground.

It did not move again.

Lance put down his sword, wrapping his arms around himself as he shivered. He stalked towards the dead wolf, it's blood pooling on the floor as it lay open-eyed on the ground. 

Just then, a pang of hunger slammed into his stomach. He glanced at the dead wolf reluctantly, picking it up by its tail, the soft fur warming Lance's cool hands as the frost on it melted. Desperate situations called for desperate measures.

_Is this... edible...?_

Lance walked back to the broken cupboard, grabbing the book he was reading before the wolf interrupted him. His eyes caught on a statement as he opened it to a page on animals.

_Almost all animals can provide good meat. Bears are the best to hunt, followed by wolves, bats and birds. If there is nothing else, hunt for slimes._

_What?!_

Brushing off the part about the slimes, Lance stared at the dead, supposedly magical wolf. 

Meat was meat.

\--

Lance sat outside the house, a small fire burning in front of him as he ate. The wolf's fur lay in a heap beside him. He took another big bite of the cooked thigh he was holding.

_This is actually pretty good..._

Lance looked at the perfectly cooked piece of leg. 

 _Reminds me of barbecued chicken,_  he thought to himself as he took another big bite. 

 _Barbequed chicken._  Something snapped in his mind. He felt a memory tugging at his brain, but he couldn't grasp it. He put down the piece of leg, sighing.

_What was it..._

He crossed his arms over his forehead, groaning. 

_Who am I, really?_

It suddenly crashed down on him. He didn't know who he was, and that old him would probably never be discovered again.

_The strange machine._

_The man._

Thinking about it, the dead old grandfather was probably his relative. Or mentor. Or something of the sort. He couldn't come up with any ideas about himself from the weird, crumpled machine he found himself in.

What he didn't know was, that the crumpled machine was the time machine that made the world what it was now.

And he would play a part in weaving he rest of its destruction.

Lance sighed, taking the piece of cloth he had found in the old house, and he packed away the extra food. Searching the house for extra water, he found but one small glass bottle of the clear liquid, so he took it and stepped out, the wolf's fur on his shoulder, sword strapped to his belt and spear on his back, the bag of supplies and the gunblade in his hand. He set off, desperate to find any sign of human life.

Or else whatever was left of it.

 


	5. II - Gladiator

_Each friend represents a world in us,_

_a world possibly not born until they arrive,_

_and it is only by meeting that a new world is born._

\--Anais Nin)

\--

Lance had nearly run out of food.

Around the area where the old, untouched house where he had found his weapons from, he had spotted a few more largely untouched huts, and he had found some water.

However, it was not enough to last him until then.

He sat down, hungry, thirsty and dead exhausted. He lay out what he had on the piece of cloth, finding only a small scrap of meat on a single rib bone and a few drops of water left in his small glass bottle.

Lance groaned. It had been long enough, nearly seven days, as Lance had estimated, although it was highly likely he had lost count, but he had found nothing.

He gulped down the rest of the water, trying to soothe his parched throat. 

 _There has to be some people left, there_ has _to be_.

He slammed down the empty bottle in the dry, sandy soil. Common sense told him in this situation it was just better to die, but there was some strong willpower that told him that he just _had_ to live.

That willpower was probably the only thing had kept him alive for so long.

He savoured the last piece of meat he had, throwing away the bone. He got up again, taking the bottle in his hand and continued walking, making sure he chewed on his last scraps of food for as long as he could.

The howls and cries of animals got more abundant as he walked. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the salty liquid dripping from his chin.

Suddenly, he heard a cry.

A human cry.

Lance looked up, stopping in his tracks. His grip tightening on his gunblade, he rushed forward. Hearing the cry again, he ran towards the source of the sound, running over a hill. He tripped in his desperation, the glass bottle flying out of his hand and shattering as it hit the ground, a shard cutting his face as he landed face down. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled back up, picking up his gunblade.

As he ran up, the sounds got louder. He heard soft sounds, murmurs and the occasional clang of clashing blades, possibly signifying more people.

Finally, he reached the top. A dim light spread out across a small valley, and in the centre was a large, scrappily but strongly built fortification. A person barged out from the entrance. Through his vision, which was starting to blur, he could catch a mop of blonde hair as the person, whoever it was, screamed again before propping himself down beside the building's wall, a hand supporting his head. Lance's face lit up.

 _Civilisation_. 

He rushed down, desperate for food, water, aid, information, anything that could help him. However, he tripped again, tumbling down the tall sand dune he had just climbed over. He snapped his eyes shut, dust flying into his eyes. Jolts of pain shot through his body as he hit the ground over and over.

It felt like eternity before he stopped rolling. He coughed, dust billowing into his face. He opened his eyes, his vision blurring as he spotted a rather tall, lanky figure with a shock of golden hair that grew a little past shoulder-length.

Lance looked up. It seemed to be the same person he saw lurking outside earlier. The person was splattered with fresh blood in places, and Lance was more than a little worried, but he couldn't do anything.

The figure bent down. 'Hey bro, seems you need help.'

'Please...' Lance was shocked at how his voice sounded. His beg sounded more like a croak.

Lance felt himself being hauled up from his shoulders, and heard the person sigh. 'They might have some food and supplies in there, though I'm not sure if they'll give it to you free.'

Lance allowed himself to relax after so many days of forcing himself to be alert. 'Thank you so much...'

And then, he passed out.

\--

Lance found himself surrounded by dim, yellow lights, with a blanket wrapped around him.

He shot up, finding his weapons beside him. Looking to the side of the room, he spotted a boy around thirteen seated on a scrappy bench, facing him. He held a plate of food in his hands, his long, gold hair flowing over his old, breaking leather overcoat and coming down just beyond his collarbone. He looked at Lance with deep blue eyes that lit up as Lance turned to face him.

'You're awake!'

Lance stared at him in confusion. 'Who are you?'

The boy paused, blinked, and laughed. 'I saved you out there, dude! I nearly got killed taking you in!'

Lance remembered the long hair. He jumped to his own conclusions. 'What are you talking about? It was a girl that saved me!'

An agitated look crept up the boy's face. A brief, awkward silence followed. 'Is that an insult?' 

Lance took another look at the boy as a lock of his golden hair fell over his shoulder. His fringe was slightly messy, and was brushed back and parted to the side. He had big eyes, and they shone a deep sea blue as they stared back at Lance. A slow, yet sudden realisation crept over him, paired together with an awkward stupidity.

'I don't know...'

The boy shrugged. 'Here's some food for you.' He stood up, walking over to Lance and passing him the plate. There was a piece of ham in the centre, and it was cold.

'You had better treasure that piece of meat, I had a hard time winning it.'

Lance paused, stopping himself as he almost took a big bite from the juicy slice of ham. 

'You _what_?'

'I won it.'

The boy looked at him as if it was no big deal. However, before Lance could say anything, the boy continued. 

'What's your name, by the way? It's weird talking to someone when you don't know their name.'

Lance put the ham back down, muttering. 'Lance.'

'Just Lance? No surname or whatever?'

Lance looked at the boy blankly. 'Yeah. I think.'

The boy shrugged his shoulders before stretching out a hand and smiling. 'Meh. I'm Matt, by the way. Matt Roszak.'

Matt's bright smile was unbelievable. _Shouldn't he be a bit more solemn considering the world we live in?_ Lance took his hand, and Matt shook it once.

'Go eat your meat, err... Lance.' Matt let go of his grip, and so did Lance. 'I'll get some water for you later.'

Lance remembered how Matt mentioned that he 'won the meat'. He decided to ask.

'What do you mean that the meat was won here anyway? Where are we? What's going on with the world?'

Matt glared at him. 'Ask me one question at a time. One more fact about me: I can't do spoken essays.'

Lance didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'What is this place?'

'I don't think that was one of the questions you asked me earlier, but anyway,' Matt said, sighing and folding his arms, sitting on the same bench opposite Lance. 'This place is Brawl Royale.'

'Brawl Royale?' Lance repeated, dragging the words out of his throat. 

'Yep. Whatever can still fight, human or not, comes here to scrape a living, or to test how good their reactions and fighting skills are.  Although the real tournament results in permanent death.'

Lance continued swimming in his confusion. ' _What?_ '

'I suppose I'm not too good at explaining.' Matt brushed his long fringe back, which fell back almost immediately, and he puffed out a short breath of air. 'Okay, so, in the normal, 'kinda practice fights, which everyone participates in, it's all about reaction. Whoever strikes first, wins. Whoever doesn't, well, dies. Defending yourself against attacks is quite illegal here, don't ask me why. It's just how it works. However, the medics at the side will revive you. The real tournament is where the best of the best come and compete. If you die, you die, no one's 'gonna revive you. By the way, I've been enlisted in the tournament.' A small, proud smile flashed across Matt's face.

Lance drew back a little. 'You're glad that you're facing imminent death by participating in this... Gladiator ring?'

The smile faded away as Lance mentioned it. 'Can't bail out, can I? Nothing much I can do about it. I heard Zombie Goku's in too.'

' _What???_ ' Lance was sure his face was going to be permanently stuck in that look of shock and confusion quite soon.

'Long story, best you forget about that.'

Matt took a glance at Lance's plate, frowning. 'Hey, eat your meat! I got it for you, okay?'

Lance reluctantly took a nibble. He didn't want to look like a famished glutton in front of Matt. 'What do you mean by you _won_ the meat anyway?'

'Oh, there's a shop inside, people bet when you fight with other foes, you win, you get a quarter the total money, or something like that, I dont't know, you go to the shop and buy whatever you can afford. The more famous you are, the more people come to see your fights, the more people bet on you. I'm not totally sure how this works, but meat's expensive, and I'm loved, what can I say. Most of the information I gave you is made up of assumptions anyway. I get money after every fight, and it seems the more people that watch the tournament, the more money I get, so I just guessed so.'

Lance took another bite of ham. He had to control himself to eat slowly - he was starving, and the ham was like food from heaven. He looked at Matt again. 'What's going on with the world anyway?'

Matt fell silent suddenly, as if he was thinking hard. A silence passed between them as Matt looked away momentarily, deep in thought as if he was comming up with a new theory. Suddenly, Matt got off the bench, and stooped down, looking Lance eye to eye.

'Listen to me carefully, and don't ever. Ever think that I'm mad. Hopefully I'm not the only person who has gone through this. Promise you'll share your story with me. You're the only other person my age I've seen around here that isn't dead, and though I may not show it much, I'm elated.' Matt paused for emphasis. 'Promise me.'

Judging from Matt's behaviour, this was pretty serious. Thinking about it, this was information haven. All his questions, that strange machine, that strange man, who he really was, could possibly all be answered by Matt.

Lance sighed. 'Alright.'


	6. III - Forgotten

'Eh Matt! Climb on da hull and check 'round for any ships would 'ye? Da crews 'ungry and we need somthin' ta loot.'

Matt groaned together with his stomach. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked to do it. He climbed onto the ship's hull, swiftly like the 'secret gymnast' his entire crew called him, took out the rusted pair of binoculars and peered over the seas horizon. It was beautifully clear, the sun starting to set, while pretty white birds flocked over the waves. Everything was beautiful, except for the fact that there were no ships at all. 

_How perfect._

He climbed down back into the ship, and stared up at the black flag with its skull and crossbones. The trademark for the common sea pirate. 

'All's clear... there's nothing.'

He was replied by a series of grunts and curses from an exhausted crew.

Normally the crew had better days. Sometimes they could loot eight boats in one day, and the gold they got could weigh up to nearly a thousand pounds. The sky could be only slightly cloudy sometimes, and the day could be cool with calm winds letting them sail through the sea with ease.

But not for the past week.

It had been searing hot, with no rain, no wind and no clouds. There had been no ships either. Their supplies had been drained and the crew were failing with disease, heatstroke, hunger and dehydration. Matt had a good mind to tell everyone that they were lost and that they should turn back instead of looking for the famed, mythical treasure island.

The idea seemed great at first. Matt dreamed of himself swimming in gold and jewels, money, getting a whole ton of new swords and maybe finding a few crowns and stuff left there from royalty and whatsoever. However, from the looks of things, it was never going to happen.

A high-pitched cry from one of the crew members pierced through his thoughts. He whipped around, his long golden hair flailing behind as he turned. 

The sight before him nearly made him scream.

At the ship's side, a series of fat, purple tentacles rose up from the sea, crashing down onto the boat. A crew member was caught by one, and was swiftly pulled under the depths of the sea. The sounds of cracking wood and a deep rumble resounded through the air as the hidden monster wrapped its fat tentacles around the boat, constricting it. Then, a huge creature broke the surface of the sea, rising over the boat's hull. It was a giant, humongous octopus, grotesque, and with a single eye placed in the centre of its head. Rising to its full height, it towered over the boat, seawater still flowing off its slimy body. 

_So this is why nobody returns._

Matt pulled out his sword, and approached the monstrous foe. If he were to die, he would die fighting alongside his comrades.

\--

Matt had watched nearly fifteen of his crew members get mercilessly slaughtered. He noticed his brother on the far end, attempting to hack off one of the octopus' tentacles. He looked up. The monster was dripping black saliva from its mouth, and it was obvious it wasn't going to go easy on them.

The octopus monster parted it's tentacles, revealing a set of thinner, whip-like tentacles with sharp, arrow-shaped barbs at each end. This was not going to get any better.

The monster lashed out one of its barbed-tip tentacles, promptly stabbing his brother in the arm. Matt cried out as his brother staggered back, his sword clattering to the ground. Crimson blood poured from his brother's wound. He turned to Matt.

'I'll be fine, Matt! Don't worry and save yourself!'

His voice faltered. Matt couldn't help but notice the flowing blood turning from a rich, red liquid to a black, tar-like substance. It was obvious his brother was going to lose his life.

'Just back out! You'll die like this!'

Matt's brother took no heed to his words. He couldn't hear him. As soon as Matt said those words, he dropped dead, lifeless, to the bloodied wooden floor of the wrecked pirate ship.

Matt stood where he was, unable to absorb all he just saw. His only family, his closest buddy, dead, right before his eyes. He just stared, his vision blurred by the oncoming  tears. 

He wasn't going to stand there for long. Suddenly, thick tentacles wrapped around his arms, and he thrashed desperately as he was lifted off the ground. The monstrous octopus tightened its grip on him. Matt stared, fearful and wide-eyed, at the beast that held his life in its arms. The beast produced a low, rumbling sound. Two tentacles reached out toward him. He cried out, gripping his sword tighter than ever before.

Suddenly, a gust of wind roared past, nearly blowing Matt's sword out of his hand. The temperatures dropped to below freezing, and Matt's hair whipped in his face. He looked down. Before him, right below him, was a pulsing, black hole. It bent the surrounding light, sucking everything in: the sea, the air, the atmosphere, even light itself.

Matt turned his direction towards the monster octopus. It was fighting the force of the black hole, and succeeding pretty fine. He glanced back at the black hole, making a split-second decision. There was still a small chance that he would survive if he fell into the black hole, but the octopus was sure to kill him.

Matt yelled, twisting his arm around and slicing the octopus' arm off, slimy green blood dripping from the severed tentacle. He dangled from his other arm. Matt grunted, hoisted himself up briefly, before severing it's other arm. The beast screeched in agony as he fell. 

Matt plunged down, into the black hole, the wind whipping against his face. As he entered, he was deafened by an overwhelming silence as he was completely detached from the world he once knew.

\--

'Are _you_ serious?'

Lance was looking at Matt, giving him a wide, doubtful smile. He was almost laughing.

'What?' Matt retorted instantaneously. 'Of course I am! You think I'd lie to you?'

Lance couldn't contain himself anymore, and he burst out laughing. He couldn't stop himself. It had been so long since he had last laughed. 'It's a bit absurd, but,' he coughed, stopping himself, 'yeah, I actually find I believe you. Sorry about your brother though... That must have hurt. Yeah,' Lance paused, composing himself. 'Sorry. I shouldn't be laughing.'

Matt sighed, shaking his head. 'Nah, its okay. But getting back to point, I think it may be some distortion in time or something, though no one is really sure.' He paused. 'What about you then? Did something, like, different happen?'

Lance looked away, suddenly feeling disconcerted. What could he tell Matt? He had nothing to tell him - he couldn't recall anything. 'Uh... well...'

Silence hovered over the two for about a minute. Matt, sensing Lance's discomfort, immediately became serious. He leaned forward, placing a hand on Lance's shoulder. He talked quietly. 'Hey, what happened out there?'

Lance sighed. 'I don't know.'

Matt pulled back a little. 'You don't know? What do you mean you don't know?'

'I can't remember! All my memories are gone!' Lance snapped.

Matt retreated, shocked at Lance's sudden outburst. 'I'm sorry.'

Lance sighed and looked down. 'It's not your fault, what's there to be sorry for?' He stood up, taking the plate and passing it to Matt.

'Did anything else happen?' Matt asked.

'All I know is I woke up in a weird machine. And there was a dead person inside. A grandfather. I'm guessing he might have been my relative or something, but I don't know about the machine.'

'We can make a hippothesis.'

'It's called a  _hypothesis_.' Lance had no idea where that word had come from, but it was in his brain. Sudden definitions began spilling out.  'A hypothesis is a scientific and calculated guess about something that you think is going to happen, like-'

'Okay, okay, you don't have to keep reminding me about how dumb I am.' Matt sighed. 'Maybe you were travelling in that thing, and a black hole appeared and you knocked your head or something, but that's not important now.' Suddenly, he stooped down, reaching under the bench. He pulled out a series of swords, three in total. He slung them all on his back.

'I can't help you about your past, but I can help you with something else,' Matt took up Lance's weapons, shoving them into his hands.

'Follow me.' Matt smiled, took his hat off the bench, putting it on and stepping outside. Lance stared at the weapons in his hand.

_Just what exactly is he planning?_

 


	7. IV - Colosseum

_Your greatest test_

_is when you are able to bless someone else_

_while going through your own storm._

\--Rafael Garcia

\-- 

Lance followed Matt outside. He found he had been residing in one of the first aid rooms, although he didn't really think he received any first aid except for Matt giving him food. Along the way, he spotted people, and creatures. Creatures of all kinds roamed the area, and all were engaged in battle with a person, or else another creature. Lance couldn't believe his eyes - though he had no memories, his gut told him that something was very wrong with the sight ahead of him. Those creatures never even existed, at least not in his knowledge. He had no other description of them other than as 'creatures'. Some were too cute to be monsters, and some were too strange to be animals. He happened to notice a small cat, it's prussian blue fur all scruffy and bandaged, holding a small knife in its mouth. It took a moment for Lance to realise that it was limbless, save for its tail, cris-crossed stitches in place of where it's arms arms and legs were. He cringed.

Lance caught sight of two large creatures. Both stood directly parallel, facing each other. Suddenly, one struck out, as fast as lightning, slicing the other one into two. The creature's upper body flew off, its dark red blood spraying across the stone. Lance grimaced, disgusted.

'Don't worry, he's not dead,' Matt called from the front. Lance, looking ahead, realised how far behind he was, and how slim and lanky Matt was. _How is he a top warrior?_ Lance thought to himself. He ran up ahead, catching up to Matt.

'What do you mean he's not dead? He just got sliced perfectly into two, and you can tell me he - _it's_  not _dead_?'

Matt laughed silently. 'The medics will revive him, it, whatever, I told you already. The mages here are powerful enough to do so. Whatever injury you throw them, they can heal. But they don't restore memories... I heard if your brain got damaged they can't do anything but revive you.'

Lance felt more confused than ever. 'Mages?'

Matt sighed. 'You've never heard of magic, have you?'

Lance shook his head innocently. 'No.'

Just before Matt could continue, Lance started talking again. 'Is it really that important here? I mean, is magic important here? What do you mean by magic anyway?'

Matt looked back, glancing at him. 'How long have you been here?'

'Maybe a week, more or less.'

'Have you seen any other people?'

'Only if you count dead people, then yes.'

'No wonder.' Matt took in a deep breath, preparing for a long explanation. 'Ever since I came here, this world we're all in seems to have been in chaos. As I mentioned beforehand, I think it's some kind of distortion in time that happened or whatsoever. So you have high tech mad scientists wreaking havoc, as well as mages and wizards claiming they're from middle earth performing magic all over the place. People find it cool, they copy them. So you see mages and wizards and people carrying all sorts of defensive and offensive gadgets all over the place. The creatures? Maybe they got mutated as they passed through the portal thing. People kind of just pop in at random times; some came earlier, like me, while some came later, like you. People still come in, though they are getting rarer. The early birds came up with their own ways of surviving, forming communities and gladiator rings and the sort. Don't ask me anymore; I know nothing.'

Matt puffed out an exhausted breath. It seemed that he had used his brain enough for a month. 'Things just seemed to work that way ever since I fell out of that pothole-thing and landed on my arse in this decemented planet. I ask questions, things get more confusing. It seems like no one knows what's going on anyway, so I gave up asking eventually. It's best to not think about anything too much.'

Lance nodded. 'Okay then... Though that just kind of confused me more.'

Matt scowled. 'Told you I was dumb, at least dumb enough not to be able to help. Maybe you'll find your answers soon enough, though I doubt it.'

Lance nodded again. 'By the way, the word is _decimated_.'

Matt raised his eyebrows in confusion. 'What?'

'You said _decemented_. It's _decimated_.'

Matt closed his eyes, sighing. 'You don't have to rub it in my face that I'm stupid...'

Lance laughed, patting Matt on the back. 'I didn't mean any harm through correcting you, honest.' Matt smiled, laughing, waving his irritation off while punching Lance's arm.

Lance smiled together with Matt. _Seriously, I really am comfortable with this guy._

Not long after, they arrived at an empty, rectangular paved area. Matt moved to one side of the area, directing Lance to the other side.

'Now,' Matt stopped, pulling out his nicest sword, 'you take out your stuff.'

Lance compared his weapons to Matts. _Bigger the better,_ he concluded, hooking his gunblade on belt for any worst case scenarios and taking up his sword, keeping his spear strapped to his back. 

'I'll teach you in reaction first, okay, since its legit here.' Matt took his blade and started using his shirt to clean it. 'I'll teach you attack and defense later, but we'll have to find a hidden area to do so. No training in fighting is really allowed in here, at least from what I've seen.' He paused to take a breath. 'I suggest you choose the weapon you're most comfortable with - I'll let you play around with your weapons for a while before you decide, so I'll wait here.' He brought up his sword, using the edge of his coat to shine it.

Lance stayed silent, pulling out his spear to compare it with his sword. He remembered what Matt said. _Ask questions, things get more confusing. Best not to think about things too much_. Although he didn't say anything out loud, his mind was screaming. _Why isn't training in fighting allowed? Why reaction? What is this? Where am I? What happened here???_

He sighed. Most importantly, he wondered why this boy, who just happened to find him randomly, dying and at his mercy, wanted to help him so bad. He didn't even know him. He wondered if Matt had an ulterior motive, and he really wanted to question him, but he couldn't bring himself to do so. If Matt honestly wanted to help, and if Lance questioned his kindness, it wouldn't be very reasonable of him. If Matt really did have any hidden motive, and if he did bring up the topic, Matt could just get mad and slice him in half with a single blow.

However, he still wanted the truth.

_Should I..._

'Uh, Matt...'

Matt looked up, stopping, halfway through an old stain on his sword. 'Yeah?'

_Just ask him!_

'Uh... your swords nice.'

_You idiot._

Lance grimaced inwardly. He didn't understand why he didn't have the guts to simply ask. Maybe Matt would find out he was too smart, and would kill him, but he didn't seem to be the kind of person. Matt's reply shook him out of his thoughts.

'Oh! That! Uh.' Matt started, continuing to clean the blade. 'This sword is Heaven's Gate. I think some old king or prince somewhat used to own it. I stole it from one of my contenders,' he continued in a hushed voice.

Lance smirked at his last sentence and spent a little while staring at Matt's beautiful sword, it's golden handle having no difference in colour with his hair, gathering his wits. He let out a puff of air.

'Why are you helping me?'

Matt scrubbed at it one last time before relaxing his grip, letting the tip of the sword rest on the ground. He leaned on it, sighing. 'Well, you remind me of myself, really.'

'But... why?'

'I'm alone, Lance.' He swung his sword around a little. 'You just... remind me of myself. I just want to help you. And I hope you can help me too.'

Lance felt something in him become warm. He felt more human, and not just an empty shell with no past.

Matt sighed one last time, nodding at Lance. 'So, shall we begin training?'

Lance took up his sword, trying his best to copy the way Matt held it.

'There's alot I can teach in four days, so if you listen and practice, maybe one day you can become as good as me or maybe better. I suppose you can improve on my skills. I might be able to teach you a bit more about your, gun thing at the side - I know a little about those. It's a good thing, really - combining a short blade and a gun.'

Matt shrugged, smiling. Lance, looking at Matt, smiled together with him. It had been long since he had smiled so often, and he wasn't used to the feeling.

'Hey Lance!'

'Yeah?'

Matt laughed silently. 'One last thing - try not to kill me, okay? You can hit me, but try not to do any more than that - it's bad for a student to murder his teacher... Maybe we should practice with sticks, on second thoughts...'

Lance laughed. For once, he felt genuinely happy.

 _Maybe I'm finally not alone_.


	8. V - Escape

_Cherish every moment and every person in your life,_

_because you never know when it will be the last time you see someone._

\--Unknown

\--

It had been four days.

The competition was today.

In other words, Matt's death was due.

Lance and Matt hung around the back of the building, an empty, dark area where nobody was allowed to go except the managers, whoever they were. Both boys sat side by side, Matt having just taught Lance how to properly use and maximise his various weapons. Lance had figured he would stick to his gunblade, since he felt more comfortable and familiar with it as compared to his other weapons. Matt scratched the tip of his sword across the ground, making marks in the sand that lightly dusted the hard, dried soil which seemed to cover the earth. Lance took in a breath to speak.

'It's the competition today, isn't it?'

A silence lingered over the two. Matt wasn't his usual self, being silent and all. He knew he wasn't the best fighter, and there were other warriors that were way better than him. He did have a chance of winning, but it was hardly a fraction.

'Yeah. Obviously.'

Matt sighed. He had felt optimistic at first, but having weighed the odds, and seeing that he did not even know what he was up against, his chances of survival were rock bottom.

Lance turned to face Matt. 'Can't you like, bail out? Pull out? Call it quits? Anything? I mean, they can't force you, right?'

'Problem is, they do.'

Lance drew back, at a loss for words. Matt had been his only friend, and his only help. He couldn't just let him die.

Silence passed between them for a short while. Soon, Lance couldn't take it any longer.

'Can't we run away? Escape?'

Matt turned to face Lance, a conflicted look on his face. 'It's wilderness all around, Lance! Talk about barren land! What can we do?'

'You heard how long I survived! We could take up a forest life if we see some woods! Become hunters or something! Also, this can't be the only functioning human fortification around, right?'

'You have a point... but what's the chance of us finding a forest? Or even civilisation?'

'You never know if you don't try.'

Matt sighed. 'We could try.'

A sudden, desperate optimism bloomed in Matt again.

 _I might live_.

Lance looked at him, interrupting his thoughts. 'Do we have much time?'

Matt stood up, slinging his sword on his back. 'No, but it should be enough to escape. They'll be looking for me soon. It's almost time: they'll be summoning us to the bloodbath soon.'

Lance followed Matt, stretching as he stood up. 'You have a way out where they won't see you?'

'I have a plan.'

\--

Matt had pulled out a scrappy map of the area, spreading it on an old, rusting oil drum. Some parts were torn, but the map was still readable.

'I stole this from one of the leaders some time ago, so it should still be accurate. There's a long, secret path leading outside. However, we've got to cross almost the whole perimeter of the building. I'm not sure if they'll come searching for us there, but if we run all the way, we should be able to make it. It may be a longer way, but I'm sure they won't find us. It's not along any of the main paths, so we're good.'

Matt ran his finger across a thin, covered pathway that ran outside almost half of the perimeter of the arena, leading to another section that seemed to be where the Brawl Royale managers held fort. Based on the look of their escape route, it seemed their escape route was mainly through a grimy, tiny tunnel. It curved around the outside of the main arena, and then ran straight beside a corridor and a row of meeting rooms and dorms for the managers, before ending at an empty space and then to a door which took them outside.

Lance squinted his eyes as he put his hands on the barrel, facing Matt. 'Why didn't you escape earlier? I mean, you know the way and everything already.'

Matt moved his finger to the end of the tunnel. Between the end of the tunnel and the door to the outside world was the room that Lance noted earlier. 'That room right there, the managers hang out around there when they have nothing better to do, which is almost 24/7. Now that all of them would be comming to watch the show, this room ought to be empty. So... We _may_ not have a problem. Note _may_.'

Matt placed special emphasis on that word. Lance let out a short sigh and nodded.

'What about food and water?'

'Forget that for now. There's no time. If we find it along our escape route we can grab it and continue running. Though I'm pretty sure that's not happening. Also, leave your spear behind - it's too bulky and it won't fit in the tunnel.'

Lance did not totally agree, but Matt had a point, and it was best not to argue. He took off his spear and placed it on the ground.

'I suggest we leave now.' Matt folded the paper, stuffing it in his pants. 'We're running out of time - just follow me!'

With that, they took off, Lance following just behind Matt.

Matt dashed to the side of the room, yanking open a door. It creaked open, making a racket which caused Lance to scrunch his face with worry, revealing a dark passage lit up dimly with yellow, uncovered lightbulbs. The walls, made up of a mixture of concrete and wood, were damp and mildewed, and had a musty smell. Cobwebs were strung across the walls, some so big they spanned the whole length of the corridor. Matt took off into the corridor without a moments hesitation. Lance, pausing for a second, slightly disgusted by what he faced, followed after Matt soon enough, catching up to him.

'We're going to have to keep running for about ten minutes or more! At the end of this there will be a large, open room! From there we can escape! We just have to hope no one's there!'

Lance heard Matt try to yell as softly as he could while running. Matt tore through the cobwebs, swinging his arm in front of him from time to time, and when the passage got darker at some places, Lance had to reach out his arm to feel the walls and use them to guide him. He was disgusted, but he had no choice as the grime collected on his fingers. The path was slightly curved, scrappily built, and seemed to have been unused for yonks.

They seemed to have been running for eternity. Suddenly, Matt slowed down. Lance was panting hard, but Matt seemed as if he had only taken a walk around the block.

'How... Are you... So fit?'

Lance stumbled behind Matt as he approached a rusted door, trying to check between the crack if there was anybody. Lance stooped down, out of breath and exhausted.

'All from training. Not now, Lance,' Matt whispered. He slowly placed his hand on the handle, turning it slowly and as quietly as he could.

_Please... Let there be no people..._

The door opened with a click. Lance tried his best to quieten his breathing. Slowly, Matt opened the door. The hinges creaked softly, and Matt cringed. He poked his head out a little.

_No one._

'It's safe, Lance!' Matt whispered, a smile lighting his face.

'Well then let's hurry!'

Matt stepped out quietly, his boot making a soft tap on the ground. Suddenly, he felt someone yank at his hair, and he fell down, screaming. He felt someone take his sword.

_Shit-_

'You coward! I knew you were the one who stole my map and I knew you would escape the second you thought you had a chance. Who said you could run from Brawl Royale?!'

Matt felt as if his scalp was being ripped out. Tears stung the backs of his eyes. He looked up.

One of the Heads had caught him.

'Once you're enlisted, no one leaves, jackass. You're demoted to the lowest level for the competition: you're no longer in the higher ranks! More foes for you, coward!'

Lance found himself being dragged out by the collar of his hoodie. Confused, he was dazed for a second. A woman, most likely in her twenties, with jet-black, close-cropped hair was gripping Matt by his hair. She was all bone and muscle, with a torn, black tank top paired with loose long pants for an outfit, a scar running from her right eye to her lip. Turning to his side, he realised the guy grabbing him looked pretty much like her, and also dressed the same. The woman, noticing Lance, dropped Matt on the floor, letting go of his hair. Matt landed with a grunt, and he screamed as the woman slammed her foot onto his abdomen, making sure he stayed.

'Who's that scrawny kid there? Don't tell me he persuaded you to escape!'

Both Matt and Lance remained silent.

'You're not answering me? Fine! Hank, throw Scrawny out of here! Once you're done, follow me; I'm going to make sure Matt doesn't have a mind to concoct any more escape plans!'

Matt's eyes widened in terror. The woman wrapped her arm around Matt's waist, carrying him back into the arena, and the last Lance ever saw of him was Matt begging him for help, tears streaming from his sea blue eyes as he was carried off. Lance cried out after him, but other than that, there was nothing he could do.

\--

Matt's cries echoed throughout the room. He knew what they were going to do to him.

_No..._

It was over for him. Totally over. He just screamed his lungs out as he watched Lance get dragged off and out violently. Part of him was happy that Lance could have a chance to survive, but he knew his time was over, and Lance, having no skills, would most likely die sooner or later in that wasteland of a world.

Suddenly, he was thrown into a chair. Two men held him down as he struggled, continuing to scream. The woman walked over to a corner, and pulled out a vial of blue, glowing liquid.

Matt froze.

He'd rather die.

He had seen that potion at work: those who consumed it had their intellect and judgement ruined for life. In some cases, they went totally insane, or else they died.

And now it was his turn.

'We've just got a new batch of these; I want to check if it works, and if its not fake. But I still want you in fighting condition, so I've weakened it. But I'm making sure you're _not_ escaping again. _Ever_. But I suppose you won't...since you'll probably die in the competition.'

Matt's tears blurred his vision.

_No... No no NO!_

The woman pinched his nose, making sure he couldn't breathe. 'What a waste...' she muttered while sighing. 'You were good money, but apparently uncontrollable.'

Matt kept his mouth shut for as long as he could, but as soon as he ran out of breath, his mouth snapped open, and soon the bittersweet taste flooded his mouth and his stomach as the woman poured the liquid down his throat.

As soon as they released him, Matt tumbled off his chair, a tsunami of dread and hopelessness washing over him as he cried for the last time, and feeling light-headed, he passed out.

\--

Lance landed face-flat into the ground, his sword clattering beside him, having slid off his back. As the heard the door slam shut far behind him, he picked himself up slowly, taking up his blade.

His mind was totally blank.

He had just been thrown back to square one.

Just that now, his one and only friend had been torn from him, and part of himself had been torn away together with Matt.

Matt had been all he had in those four days: his companion, his saviour, his help, his protector, his caretaker, his friend...

And now, he could only be assumed of as dead.

He felt like an empty shell again.

Inhumane.

Alone.

Forsaken.

Lance fell back on his knees, his sword clattering back to the ground. Tears stung his eyes, and spilled over onto his cheeks. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails digging into his scratched palms. Weeping, torn, angry and lost, he let it all out in a single cry.

'WHY MUST EVERYTHING BE TAKEN FROM ME...!'

With that, he sunk back to the ground, kneeling and bent forward, his forehead resting on his clenched fists, his tears mixed with his blood as his tears flowed down into his bleeding hands.

 


	9. VI - Shattered

_Tears shed for another person are not a sign of weakness;_

_They are a sign of a pure heart._

\--Jose N. Harris

\--

It had been three days. Three days of wandering, three days of hunger, three days of mourning, three days of loss.

Three days of being totally alone in the world.

Again.

His final memories of Matt kept tugging at him, and the fact that he did nothing to help, and even didn't even try to help, felt like a knife stabbing his heart every time. He had feared for his own life. _His own life._

He felt so terrible.

So guilty. 

_Am I even human..._

Lance choked down his tears. He had let his own selfishness control him, just like any other human failure, and he was disgusted with himself. _At least I know I have a conscience now..._ He thought to himself miserably.

However, he had let his only friend and help in the world die.

Without even doing anything to stop it.

He was now back at square one, alone and wandering, except that now he had the extra burden of his guilt to deal with and carry around. The loneliness and guilt almost pinned Lance down to the ground. He let out a sob, and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. It was painful for him - his only interaction with humanity so far had taught him nothing but the fact that his own species was not to be trusted. 

What made it worse was the fact that Matt had been different, in a good way, and he had lost him.

And he had failed to pay Matt's kindness back.

_What have I done..._

Another silver wolf appeared in front of him. Upon seeing Lance, it turned to face him, growling at him as a warning. Lance scrunched up his face, frowning, taking up his sword. He felt victimised - he had never chosen to live like this, and God had never given him the choice.

_I hate my life._

He took his position, holding his sword up. The wolf bristled its back as the light reflecting off Lance's blade glint ed in its bottomless eyes, unsheathing its claws. The criminal despotism of the hierarchy of the Brawl Royale complex played over and over again in his mind, and he could not help but feel injustice.

_I hate people._

His grip tightened, his knuckles whitening. The wolf reared up on it's hind legs, growling even more. Seeing the aggressive wolf only reminded him of the mess the current world was plunged into, a turmoil that would never be straightened or calmed. 

_I hate this world._

Lance planted his feet into the ground, preparing to strike. The wolf lunged forward. Lance glared at the wolf in the eye. He felt worthless, unworthy of living, and he felt as if heaven had automatically blacklisted him after the spectacular failure of his humanity at Brawl Royale. 

_I hate myself._

Lance cried out, charging, rushing forward towards the wolf. The world seemed to slow down around him as his emotions engulfed him, wrapping both hands tightly around the handle of his silver blade, as if channeling all his anger, hate, guilt and darkness into it, and he took his strongest swing at the wolf. He sliced it perfectly in two, its silver blood spraying on him as his sword sliced through its abdomen.

The two pieces landed on the floor behind him, landing with a hideous splat. Lance's eyes were wide, and he was heaving, his tears mixing with the wolf's silvery blood on his cheeks as he cried.

_All I have... is hate._

Lance turned round stiffly, his hand trembling as he slung his sword back on his back. He hadn't washed his hands after the crying fit he had outside the Brawl Royale complex, and his palms were coated with a sticky mix of his own dried blood and tears. He looked at his hands, now with a sprinkling of the wolf's blood, trembling as he held them in front of his face.

He looked up, a lock of his hair falling in front of his face, having grown longer over the past few days. It shocked him, having noticed his own hair for the first time. He hadn't really payed much attention to himself, now that he thought about it, and a sudden realisation struck him.

_I don't know what I look like._

Lance looked back up to face the wolf's carcass. The wolf's blood pooled in a dark, silver puddle, almost looking like molten metal. The puddle kept growing, and as Lance dropped to his knees and peered into the pool of blood, he saw himself for the first time since he had lost his memory.

Lance tried his best to register what he looked like. He was young - a twelve? Thirteen-year-old? His hair was fluffy, layered and extremely straight, as if it was permed, though disheveled. It's colour was a deep, auburn red, and some strands had grown to shoulder length. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it down as best as he could. His eyes were the same striking colour as his hair, and under the right lighting they appeared like the burning red of the centre of a flame. They were angular, sharp like rest of his features, and looked slightly smaller compared to Matt's bright sea blue eyes. He sighed, rubbing his face.

_Matt again..._

Another stab of guilt left it's mark on his heart. He felt completely drained, and looked it. He took a look at his arms, and remembered when he and Matt had been caught escaping, and the woman's words rang again in his mind.

_'Who's that scrawny kid there?! Don't tell me he persuaded you to escape!'_

No wonder he had been called scrawny.

Lance sighed again. He looked up at the dead wolf. He didn't feel hungry at all, nor did he feel like eating, but he knew that if he wanted to live, he had to eat.

_No, I don't want to eat, I don't want to live._

Lance stood up. He felt weak, he felt like throwing up. Partly from guilt, partly from hunger. He turned away, and forced himself to start walking off. He dragged his feet against the ground, but another part of his mind started tugging at him again.

_Matt wouldn't have wanted this for me._

He stopped dead in his tracks. He clenched his teeth, the guilt continuing to pull at him. He remembered the woman who ordered Matt be taken away, and how she lifted him off the floor by his hair as of he were but a sack of matted feathers, Matt helpless as the other Hank guy, whoever they were, held his sword and dragged him off as he struggled and cried for the last time.

_Why is the world so disgusting..._

The world had taken everything from him except his hate. He felt far from human. He was just a body holding in all his animosity towards the world, with no personality, no life, no companions, and no past. 

However, Matt came to his mind again.

_'You just... remind me of myself. I just want to help you. And I hope you can help me too.'_

Matt's words rung in his mind. All the memories from Matt trying his best to train him, help him and hopefully give him a better chance of survival flowed through this thoughts. 

If he killed himself now, Matt's effort would have gone to waste. Now that he thought about it, a million things could have happened after they took Matt away. He might not be dead; he might just be locked up or something. Though there was was a high chance that he was dead.

Lancr ignored that chance. If he could survive, and put Matt's training to good use, he could go back to the Brawl Royale complex and save Matt, if he was even alive, and the rest of the people who needed saving.

He made a silent promise to himself, clenching his fist over his heart.

_I shall live only for Matt's sake, and I will save the others in Brawl Royale._

He turned around to get the dead wolf, shoulders hunched from exhaustion. However, the wolf was gone, the smear of it's silvery blood the only evidence that it had been there.

He looked up, instantly alert, eyes wide from confusion. Suddenly, he locked eyes with a middle-aged man, standing not far off from where he had left the wolf. He was donned in what looked like a black, generals uniform, a red band with a swastika on his arm.

Something tugged in Lance's mind, but he had no time to think about that. The man raised up a dagger, and it was rusted and coated with dried blood. He looked mad, his eyes so wide that his auburn irises were surrounded by a ring of white, with a lunatic grin - or snarl, Lance couldn't tell - permanently pasted on his face. A matted, dirty, snowy blonde fringe peeped out from below his hat. The two pieces of the wolf Lance had killed were slung over his shoulder, it's blood flowing over the silver lapels of his intricate uniform. The man held out the dagger further, pointing at Lance's belt.

'That's my comrades weapon, _scrawny_.'

_Scrawny again..._

Lance still stood there, partly confused. He stayed silent. The man continued in his strange accent, his way of speaking sounding between a slur and a growl. 

'I'm gonna have to eat your wolf, scrawny. I'm short of food here, unless you want to help me survive longer by letting me eat you too.'

There was a pause. Suddenly, without warning, the man charged forward like lightning. Lance pulled back, and did what he promised himself he would never do again.

He screamed, his cry of shrill terror and fear the only thing heard for miles to come. 

As his thoughts raced through his mind, he settled on one; that that scream might just be the last sound he might ever make.


	10. VII - Stranger

_Sometimes,_

_The person you'd take a bullet for_

_Ends up being the one behind the trigger._

\--Fall Out Boy

\-- 

Lance took out his gunblade out of desperation with no time to reach for his sword, using his right hand to slip his gunblade out of his belt. He swung to the side as the man slid past him, his rusted dagger nicking Lance's sleeve. The man turned back to face Lance, and his red-auburn eyes were wider than ever, and his looks chilled Lance to the bone. 

 _His eyes... They're the same colour as mine... And they_ look _like mine..._

However, all traces of familiarity for the man fighting him were flushed out by fear as the man charged towards him again. Lance was suddenly very grateful that Matt had given him an extreme crash course on speed after studying his physique. 

 _'You're not very strong, I suppose, but you're agile.'_ Matt's words repeated themselves in his mind. _'The first step for your survival would be to avoid any damage to yourself in a battle_.' Matt threw out a fist at him, and Lance instinctively avoided, earning him a lopsided smile and a nod from Matt. _'Yup, I think I know what to do with you now. Just build up your upper body strength and make sure you're fast, and you'll be good.'_

_No, Lance, not now-_

Lance swung his gunblade in front of himself, shaking himself out of his memories while berating himself for losing focus at such a critical moment, and the man swiftly avoided his attack, blocking Lance's blade with his knife as Lance backed away. The lunatic struck out again, aiming for Lance's eyes, and Lance only just managed to slide back again, and he felt the wind as the blade sliced through the empty air just in front of his face. 

Lance yelled at him frantically. 'Can't we work together? Why are you fighting?! HEY!!'

The man took another swing at Lance's chest, and Lance fell to the ground trying to avoid. 'Every man for himself. The strongest survive, the weak die out. Your flesh'll benefit me anyway.' 

Lance grimaced inwardly. _Cannibal_.

The man stood over Lance, and brought his blade down. Lance quickly rolled over to the side, and the man's rusted blade struck hard ground. Lance quickly picked himself up, pointing the gunblade at the man and placing a reluctant finger over the trigger.

Lance, still broken from his experiences at Brawl Royale, fought back his tears. 'Please! I don't want to kill you! Can't you fix your thinking?! I don't want anyone else to die because of me!!!' 

Lance's cry echoed throughout the plain, and the man suddenly stopped. He stood there, almost seemingly frozen. Lance faced the man's side, and suddenly, the man's face changed, the lunatic expression disappearing from his face, his eyes now filled with shock and a deep grief.

'So you still have a heart then, boy?'

Lance held out the gunblade, continuing to point it at the strange man. His hands trembled, knowing he had the power to kill him any second he wanted to, but he prayed he would have no need to do so. He feared having the power to kill. 

The man turned to face Lance, dropped his dagger, and placed his hands by his side like a dignified officer. Now that Lance thought about it, this man was once part of a family, had a mother and father, and could have had a wife and children long ago. The man placed a hand over his heart, clenching it into a fist and gripping his coat as he saw Lance's face.

'Oh Lord... it's you......You've grown... You've grown so much......'

Lance couldn't say anything. He lowered his gunblade slightly, his hands still shaking. His mind was a mess, suffering from an overload of information, frozen with fear and confusion.

_What does he mean?_

The man continued, shaking his head and sighing. 'I am half mad, drifting between lunacy and sanity. Please, Lance, I'm sorry, but you have to take my life before I take anyone else's. Before I take yours. I don't want to live anymore. I can't live anymore.'

_How... Did he know my name..._

'I'm sorry, boy. There's so much more I need to tell you, I wish I could be with you longer, but... Jesus, I can't... I'm too dangerous......'

The man pleaded with him. Lance stared at the man, his breath quickening and his mind clouding with stress, and he lifted the gunblade once more. Lance's vision started to blur as he started to tear up. He didn't even know this man - but the man seemed to know him - and was even asking Lance to kill him.

'No. Please, don't make me do something I don't want to do.'

'Lance... I'm sorry... Please, please do it, you will save lives by ending mine. You'll save me. You'll save yourself. Please, just kill me. Kill be before I lose all my memories, before I lose myself entirely. You're my only chance at saving myself. Please, I'm begging you, just do it. Or maybe you can just run... running may be a better option...'

Lance sobbed no matter how much he willed himself not to. He didn't want this. He wanted to know how the man knew him, and he wanted to find out why the sight of the mans face set off a twinge in his memory. 

Last of all, he wanted to save him. Big ambition, it was, but Lance, having been broken, was desperate. He couldn't save Matt, and his mind wanted evidence that he wasn't as useless as he had shown himself to be so far.

'No! I don't want to!' Lance cried out desperately, his voice breaking.

The man looked at him with his auburn eyes, the sadness in them evident as Lance saw that he was slowly breaking on the inside. He had the feeling that the man knew he was going to lose it soon - his thoughts falling in on themselves, his mind seemingly controlled by another entity, a parasite inside him. A soft breeze caused a lock of his silver-blonde hair to fall in front of his face. 'Lance... I'm sorry.'

Lance shook his head, having being faced with too much information. He couldn't take it - he was overwhelmed.

'No, No. Don't. No.'

'JUST DO IT!!!'

The man had gone mad again. He glared at Lance, his eyes as wide as saucers, spit flying out of his mouth as he screamed. 

'DO IT! DO IT! DO IIITTTT!!!'

Lance pulled back slightly with shock. Suddenly, the man started charging towards him, continuing to yell the same words. Lance, terrified, shot the man out of instinct. The gunshot rang out like a blast of thunder, and the man's head snapped back, bright red blood spraying from his wound, and he fell on his back to the ground, a tear falling from his eye.

Lance's breath started hitching. The echo from the shot could still be heard rumbling in the distance. Lance choked on his tears, and he dropped his gunblade, sinking back to the ground. The gunblade fell with a clatter, and he dropped down to his knees, his body heaving with sobs.

_I just killed a man... on purpose......_

He bent forward, his head on the ground, banging on the hard soil with his fists. He kept crying, his terror turning to grief, his grief turning to guilt, his guilt into hate. 

_Why? Why! WHY?!!_

It was all a circle. Everything he had been through so far had shown him only pain, horror and terror, and the three only reminded him of how useless he was. He had met two people, and he failed to save both - one from his circumstances, the other from the monster inside him. 

Indirectly, he had killed them both.

Lance got back to his knees, and cried out.

'WHY AM I ALIVE?!!'

The tears streamed down his face once more as his cry of despair echoed throughout the barren horizon. He picked his gunblade up, putting it on his lap as he sobbed. He was overwhelmed, his feelings like a cyclone inside him, tearing him apart, pushing him into a dark, muddy aftermath of despair.

_I don't have to feel._

The thought struck him suddenly, and he almost stopped crying immediately. No feelings meant no pain, no sorrow, no guilt, no regret - just ambition, and powerful drive towards purpose. Maybe, just maybe, he could calm the raging storm inside him temporarily.

_Yes, I don't have to feel._

It was hard. He choked down everything, literally forcing down all his feelings. He let all his hate wash over him, let his anger overtake everything in the hope it could calm the storm within him. He hoped, by building a wall around himself, he could ignore the pain, all of his pain, his guilt. 

Just then, something inside him changed. He felt cold, hard, and emotionless, nothing but his anger and guilt acting as his conscience. It was fragile still, but from that day on, his shell began to harden.

He looked back up at the man, his face set into an expression without feeling. He took the two pieces of wolf from the man's shoulder, and stayed there, looking around him.

_Yes, I shall not feel._

He looked at the man's uniform, and checked his own tattered clothes. His pants were spotted with holes, and his hoodie was frayed, and his shirt was somehow torn down the centre. Feeling the material of the man's uniform, it felt much more durable, and, surprisingly, it looked pretty new. 

_Maybe I could borrow this._

\--

Lance hadn't been walking for long.

Wearing the man's uniform, which surprisingly fit him perfectly, made him feel much more confident, and he didn't have to worry about his clothes falling apart at any second. The grey lapels wrapped around his neck, and the long, black jacket reached down to his ankles. There were even medals still attached to it, an iron cross and some other silver war medal on a red ribbon that Lance couldn't decipher. A long belt wrapped around his waist twice, the first time tighter then the first, and Lance found it a convenience, as he could hook his gunblade on it when he wasn't using it. The long sleeved, faded yellow shirt underneath and long pants were comfortable and, surprisingly, cooler than his old clothes. Lance stretched his arms, adjusting his collar, silver blade slung on his back.

The sky had begun to clear, and the air felt less contaminated. As his 'borrowed' boots kicked the ground, it felt less hard and dry, and seemed to contain moisture, though it was minimal. He faced forward, trying to erase all memory of the man he slaughtered and pilfered from, the memory of his white-blonde hair and sad auburn eyes still weighing upon his conscience.

He rested his gunblade on his shoulder, the other half of the wolf skewered on it for later use. He kept pulling off his officer's hat to clean it, and he made sure the brim of the hat and it's emblem shone. The peaked hat had the same colour tones as the jacket, with a skull insignia above a star with wings sprouting on the sides.

 _This looks terribly familiar..._ He wondered to himself, but eventually pushed the thought away. He didn't want to burden himself with too many questions.

He put his hat back on. As he looked to the sky, he saw traces of blue among the dark, smoky clouds. The terrain seemed different, and the temperatures were cooler.

_There has to be a forest or some human settlement somewhere..._

Lance paused, turning around in a circle. Suddenly, a trace of green and a clear sky in the distance caught his eye. 

_Life._

Lance took off immediately towards the green patch ahead, the forest being his only chance of a better survival. As his thoughts wandered, his hardened expression unconsciously broke into a small smile.

 _Haha, Matt_ , he thought sadly, _now who said we'd never find a forest or anything, eh?_

Lance closed his eyes, forcing back his tears as his only memories haunted him once again.


	11. VIII - Ruin

Lance was nearly drenched in his sweat, holding his jacket in his hand as he ran.

The forest was not far now; he only needed to sprint a few hundred more metres before he reached the edge.

However, he spotted something, and he stopped running. The dust kicked up around his boots, and he watched it drift away in the wind as he stood there, panting as he regained his breath.

As he peered into the forest, he spotted the twist of green wires, behind a few layers of trees, that made up a long, stretching fence, a small, rusted, rectangular sign hanging from the fence by its upper corner.

Lance stood there, confused as to what to do.

_Fence means quarantined area._

_Quarantined area probably means shelter._

_Or something._

Lance sighed. He always felt that he knew things, but he didn't know what he knew and he didn't know what he didn't know. _Stop confusing yourself,_ he shook his head, and started forward slowly, his footsteps causing the dust to billow up around him. The sky was brighter now, and the colour of the ground was of pale sand, and as he looked behind, he could see the dark, smoky columns of clouds hovering like a thick blanket over a cursed land, it's underside an eerie red glow cast from who-knew-what below.

He faced the fence again. It was strange, seeing that there was a thick, dense forest in the middle of this dead, dry land. He froze as he entered the greenery, having stepped on a snail. He winced, the sudden blast of sound giving him a small fright. Having been in an atmosphere of silence for so long, he was not used to hearing anything other than his footsteps.

Soon, he was face-to-face with the fence. He stretched out his hand, feeling the rusted wires, the green paint and the rust flaking off as he ran his fingers across it. 

Seeing the slanted sign to his left, he reached out to straighten it so he could read its contents easier. However, as he pushed up the side, the metal sign fell off, landing on the ferns below. He picked it up, some of the rust sticking to his fingers. Most of the sign was rusted, save for the centre, and Lance could only make out a simple drawing of a man with a soldiers helmet pointing a gun towards another man with his hands in the air. Dusting some dirt away, Lance could make out a few words.

_**ERNM  NT AR** _

_**ITARY REST   CTED ZO** _

Lance silently registered that he could read, and he dropped the sign back on the ground, crushing a few more plants in the process. 

_Government area... military restricted zone._

Lance began to think. 

_Makes sense, probably, if what Matt said was true - if there was a break in space-time, and everything got mushed together - so behind me is a scene of destruction from some after-earth situation, and in front of me is some scene from the 21st? 22nd century?_

Lance paused. _If there's a military, there should have been a government, right? Even the sign says so._

Lance had no idea what he was talking about, but deep down, he knew he was right. His memories were featureless and floating around, and the more he called put for them, the further away they flew. He knew that, if he ever wanted his memories back, he would have to wait for them to come back to him. So he let his thoughts flow.

 _Maybe,_ he continued, _just maybe, the government should have alot of supplies._

_Or maybe there really are soldiers inside, and if I enter I'm sure to get shot down and cannoned by a whole army. Maybe even captured._

_But there's no one patrolling,  which is strange..._

Somehow, somewhere at the back of his mind, all the information he had of his previous world was lurking around, lost and forgotten and waiting for the situation to allow it to be found again. If only he had access to them all.

_Maybe I have a small chance of getting my memories back._

He took his sword from his back, and carved a hole through the brittle wire as gently as he could. The rusted wire parted like butter as his sword cut through it. The thought gave him hope, the fact that he might regain his memories, and if he could become stronger, he could go back to save Matt, and they could rule the world together. Maybe, for the last point.

However, at the very back of his mind, something always told him that life would never be so easy. It was a constant chant, a nag, the same thing repeating over and over again: he would never get his memories back, he would never see Matt again, and he would never live a normal life again.

Ever.

\--

Lance had been walking for a short while, and somewhere along the way the dirt and soil changed to solid, hard concrete, part of a remnant of civilization that had crumbled over time, the roots of trees breaking through the old concrete and making way for more plants to grow.

The air was moist, and the faint chirping of insects could be heard all around him. It was slightly brighter than compared to the parched desert outside, and Lance was not adjusted to the new surroundings. However, he enjoyed the fresher air here, and he strolled through the shrubs and plants as he savoured the air around him.

_Whoever knew I'll enjoy breathing?_

Suddenly, the trees started becoming less dense, and he spotted a huge, broken concrete block ahead. He walked over, taking a look at what it could be, or could have been.

He walked around it, touching his fingers to the slightly moulded concrete. The block was as tall as he was, if not slightly higher, and had a well-defined corner that seemed to have not worn down much over time. Lance assumed that this concrete block used to be the corner of a building. Vines had grown over and around it, and as Lance levelled his head, he spotted black, block letters. He stepped back. Part of it had crumbled away, but Lance could roughly make out what it read.

**14A**

The words had been spray-painted through a stencil, and Lance figured it was either the bunker or block number or an old squadron name or something of the like.

He moved on. There were less and less trees as he kept scaling the area, and as the foilage finally cleared, Lance could only pause to marvel at the sight in front of him.

He had guessed correctly that it had been an army base, but he had underestimated its size.

The base stretched out almost as far as the eye could see, and throughout were the ruins of concrete buildings of different heights and sizes, though none reached more than three stories. There was only one exception, a tall structure, partly glass and steel, which Lance assumed used to be either a control or radio tower. In one corner was a large facility with the roof blasted through, and Lance guessed that it once stored all the vehicles and planes or weapons and ammunition. Looking around him, it was almost a sight to behold. It was almost as if he was standing in the centre of an old piece of history.

However, it spoke of a message Lance had seen repeated time and time again.

All around, all he saw was destruction.

Old, broken buildings, crushed army planes and transport carriers, tanks crumpled under fallen trees and headquarters now inhabited by plants.

Lance sighed. 

 _Maybe all the world has for me is destruction_.

However, he pushed those feelings aside to one corner for possible later use. He began to think. 

_How would I carry out my raid on Brawl Royale?_

Lance started across the tarmac leisurely. If he could find a good car with a working machine gun on the top, or if he could find something even more powerful, and gather lots of ammunition, he could easily blast his way through the complex, provided he could take everyone by surprise and kill everyone before they could react. However, he would be exposed at the top of the car while firing the machine gun, and he needed someone to drive. For now, he was only capable of running a one-man show.

As he walked past an armoured tank, which had been brutally crushed by a fallen tree, his stomach began to growl. If he were to keep going without stocking up enough food, it was possible that he would starve to death even before he made it out of the forest. 

_Army bases should have lots of preserved food stock, right?_

He turned his attention to the bunkers as he pulled the rotting remnants of the wolf off his gunblade, all of which looked more like hollowed, crumbling concrete blocks. Hopefully, he could make use of this place to carry out his purpose.

Whatever his purpose was.


	12. IX - Officer

Although Lance had told himself that he would forbid any feelings, he did not forbid himself to feel anger.

He had rummaged through nearly fifteen whole bunkers, and he was getting hungrier, and he had started ripping out whole drawers in his frustrstion, useless or damaged items strewn across the rooms he had recently ransacked. The wolf parts he had saved could not be eaten anymore, for the humidity and heat of the forest had caused it to rot, and he had no idea how to start a fire in such a moist environment.

For now, he had found nearly everything but food.

 _Where is it all_ gone _?!_

'DARN IT,' He grumbled, ripping out another drawer and dumping it onto the ground, the falling wood making a racket as it tumbled to the floor. It suddenly occured to Lance that he had just swore. 

Lance let out a groan of frustration, throwing himself onto the rusted bunker bed beside him. However, it gave way below him, and he fell down with a small yelp of surprise as the bed frame broke. Grumbling about how dilapidated everything was, he sighed, sitting up, and begin to think.

_Where could all the food have gone?_

Lance sighed again, getting up from the broken bed. Deciding to search for weapons instead, he walked out of the broken down bunker he had been searching through, and proceeded to the large building which he assumed kept all the army's weapons and transport. It looked a little like a hybrid of an arms factory and an ammunition store, but he couldn't be sure. He kept thinking as he walked along, thinking having become a habit for the past weeks of his life since it was the best he or anyone in his position could do.

The majority of items that Lance had found consisted of clothes, daily necessities such as toothpaste, together with old, faded photographs and here and there. In a few rooms he had seen a few fridges, all of which were not functioning, and he had found nothing except for a few rotten vegetables at the bottom. There was no edible food to be seen around.

_Unless someone else lives here._

The thought struck him like a the clang of a bell. It rang around in Lance's mind, and as he thought about it, the possibilities were actually pretty high. He squinted his eyes, nodding to himself - he had to be ready to fight should there be any hostiles around, and there would be many of those taking shelter in an abandoned army base like this.

The door of the large complex had been left open, the metal had rusted, and something had bent the door out of shape, so that it suffered from a permanent outward slant. As Lance pushed the door open with much force, the resounding creak echoed throughout the building, the loud noise blaring throughout the abandoned army base. Light spilled into the old building, and Lance spotted the lit area where the hole in the roof allowed light to shine through. However, despite how dilapidated it looked, it was another sight to behold.

As he strolled through, he spotted thousands of different models of tanks, trucks and fighter jets, each all modern, sleek and equipped with what looked like new technology. There were also some older tanks, those of which were higher in number. Strangely, some held the sign of the Americans, some the sign of the French, others the German cross of the Nazis. No normal army base would have equipment from around the world.

_How do I know all this?_

Lance sighed and took off his hat to fan himself. It was cooler here, but it was humid, so sweat did not evaporate. He took his own time to admire the large collection of artillery and military vehicles. 

Then, another thought occured to him, and a grin flashed across his face.

_I could borrow one of these._

Looking to his left, he spotted a rather interesting and complex looking tank, and popping open the hood, he dropped himself into the tank. Strangely, the inside of the tank lit up as soon as he set foot into the interior, and immediately he had access to all the controls.

_Shouldn't there be more protection of any sort?_

However, he decided to leave that thought for later, and directing it clumsily out through one of the broken sides of the building, he decided to find some target practice to test his new tank on.

However, even before it reached the side of the building, its engine started to splutter, and Lance heard a small explosion as the lights went out, and the tank jerked to a halt. Lance grumbled again, hoisting himself out of the cockpit. As he poked his head out, he only just realised that some ivy had grown into the engine, and smoke was now pouring from the exhaust. He muttered a few curses before strolling back to where he had found all the tanks.

So far he hadn't found any portable weapons, and deciding that all of the tanks would be in about the same, dying condition as the tank he had taken, seeing all the various vines that had infested the area, he immediately moved on, moving further into the heart of the building.

Suddenly, there was a crash behind him, and the sound echoed throughout the building as Lance whipped around. However, it was dark, and Lance, being of below average height, couldn't really see above all the tanks and planes. Shrugging it off, he continued walking.

However, as he walked, the back of his brain kept prodding at him, yelling at him that something wasn't totally right. However, he ignored the worry and continued forward.

Much later, he realised he should have just listened to his instincts. But, by then, it was already too late.

Before he knew it, there was an explosion just behind him, and he found himself flying through the air. He landed face-flat onto the floor with a cry, and turning to lie on his back, he could hear the rumbling of a powerful tank through his heavy breathing. He whipped out his gunblade, pointing it at the source of the sound. 

He heard the tank get closer. He stood up, continuing to point his gunblade at the approaching tank. 

The tank, or whatever it was, kept moving forward. When it was just out of Lance's view, swallowed by the darkness and dust, it stopped. He heard the top open, and he heard a gun being loaded. Lance stood up, continuing to face the tank and the new soul attacking him. Suddenly, a deep, masculine voice called out to him.

'Get out of here, boy! This is my area, you got that? _My_ area!'

Lance groaned, continuing to point his gunblade. He raised it, looking straight at the tank. As his eyes continued to adjust to the dark surroundings, he could just make out the tank's outline.

'Were you the one who took all the food?'

'It's _my_ area, scrawny! And if its my area, the food is mine too! I have my gun aimed at your eye, and if you don't leave I _will_  shoot! I'll give you a chance since you're a kid, now go!'

'At least _share_ , won't you?!'

Lance felt stupid debating with the man. If he was already threatening Lance, he shouldn't try to beg for supplies, lest ask him if he took all the food. However, he was desperate, and having been called scrawny again, Lance's temper had flared, and he pushed all rational thought's down. 

'Either I take what I need and go, or I kill you!'

'Fat chance, boy!' Came the retort. Then, a gunshot pierced through the air, and Lance flew backwards, screaming, as he felt a stinging, burning pain in his eye as the man's bullet flew through the air and found home. 


	13. X - Insanity

Lance clutched his eye, whimpering softly. As he pulled it away, he saw the faint shimmer of his blood as it poured all over his hand.

 _Ignore the pain._  Ignore _it!_

The man had shot sideways, striking him right in his left eye. He felt blood drip down his face, and the pain kept increasing to what felt like an acid burning through his skull. As he looked up, half his eyesight was gone, and whatever he did, wherever he looked, flashes of burning streaks of pain would slice through the left side of his skull. He choked down a painful sob, feeling the burning tears well up in his eyes. He got up to his knees, heaving softly as he swiped a bloody hand on the floor, feeling around for his gunblade. He felt the cool metal handle, and he fastened his grip around it, his knuckles turning white.

Grunting, he picked himself up. A rage he had never felt before surged through him, and raising his gunblade, he pointed up suddenly, and shot the roof. Part of the top of the building exploded in a shower of metal and concrete, and light spilled into the area as the debris rained down on the tank. He heard the man give a small yelp of surprise, hiding back in his tank for shelter. Sunlight now flooded the area they were standing in, and Lance could almost see everything clearly despite his handicapped vision, save for he dust floating around. He kept his gunblade pointed at the tank, the remnants of debris falling around him while the dust cleared. The pain dulled as adrenaline pumped through his body, his hate taking over everything else.

The man popped out of the tank again, this time carrying a machine gun. Lance assumed that his own expression was full of rage, and paired with his blown off eye he realised he must have looked a scary, mutilated mess as the man stared back at him with shock.

'You shouldn't have survived that gunshot...'

The man was dressed in a similar fashion as he was, with the same black jacket he had, except that his was less endowed than Lance's and much shorter. He was also missing the swastika band on his left/right arm. His peaked hat was also similar, but was missing the skull insignia, an eagle with its wings outstretched in its place.

Lance loaded his gun, a sadistic smirk playing on his face as he aimed. 'Well, I have.'

The man raised his gun to shoot him, and Lance dived behind a few metal barrels as the bullets struck ground, gunshots ringing through the area. The dust hadn't completely settled, and Lance used it as cover as he tried to get back into the darker areas of the complex. The man swore as he temporarily lost sight of Lance, going back to the tanks cockpit, taking control of the tanks cannon while moving forward.

'Boy!' He called out suddenly, a slight hesitation playing in his voice. 'You tell me why you and your uniform look familiar!'

 _How would I know?_ He snapped at the man in his mind, _I've only known myself for the past what, three weeks? Less?_

Lance took a look at the guy's tank. The tank was a dark silver colour, the German Nazi cross printed on its side. The whole tank was laden with weapons: twin machine guns, mini rocket launchers, drills and whatnot. The bottom front of the tank had been fitted with short blades, enabling it to plough down and cut up whatever it ran over. However, most of it looked old and rusted, and mentally Lance mocked the man for not taking good care of his things.

The man popped back out of the tank to get a better glimpse of his surroundings. 'Come out, kid! You know you can't hide for that long!'

Lance caught sight of a broken glass panel in front of him. He could see the front of the tank, and the man standing at the top, clearly through its reflection. Lance sat still, catching his breath. Suddenly, the nan popped back into his tank, and Lance saw the tank's cannon move. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

If he could see the man, then...

_Firetruck-_

Lance dived away, the metal barrels that were behind him just a few milliseconds beforehand exploding in a firework of amber and gold, the heat rushing around Lance as he regained his balance, dashing off as fast as he could. The man followed behind in his tank, taking his time as he kept trying to point the tank's cannon towards Lance's direction.

'Boy! Listen up, scrawny!'

 _Ugh..._ Literally everyone called him scrawny, and he was exceptionally irritated at this man doing so.

'Killed the general then?!'

_Huh?_

The phrase rang a few bells, but he was still confused.

'What rubbish are you talking?' Lance continued to run, boldly yelling back his reply as he scanned the premises for ammo and stronger weapons.

'HA! You're wearing his clothes, scrawny!'

Lance had started to link up information. Flashes of memories rushed through his mind, and it left him confused.

_What really happened here?!?_

'Who are you talking about?!'

The man cackled again, as if he thought it made his enemies more afraid of him. 'That man! He was famous, and a nice guy, yeah, but he disappeared long ago. Then a few years later came Judgement Day, and we're all dumped in this mess of a planet. Strangely, I'm the only Judgement Day survivor around here. The general came back, he did, surprisingly, but he was mad and he tried to kill me. I wasn't going to let him take my place here, no, and neither will I let you!'

The man fired another shell at Lance. The shelf exploded behind him, and Lance jumped as the blast threw him off his feet.

_Judgement Day? Disappeared? Came back? Huh?_

_You're probably more bonkers than the man I killed out there..._  Lance retorted in his mind.

As he though about it, Judgement Day probably referred to the same distortion in time Matt was talking about. Lance paused, jumping to the side as the man tried to fire at him. The shell landed quite far behind him. With that, the man retreated back into his tank.

_I need more powerful ammunition._

Diving behind a shelf as the man fired another shell almost just behind him, he stopped for a second to catch his breath. He grabbed onto the the shelf's ledge, pulling himself up. Running his hands through the spaces, he felt guns. Big guns. He wrapped his hand clumsily around one and ripped it out, the weight pulling him down for a second. Holding up the enormous gun without looking at what it was, he jumped out, pointing it at the tank, immediately firing without thinking. He later realised he was holding a large minigun, its bullets flying out of the barrel, straight towards the tank.

And they all flew off, landing with a ping before ricocheting away.

Lance froze for a moment. The tank creaked to a halt. Lance threw the gun to the side, the thing landing with a clatter, and went back to hide behind the shelf. Thinking about it, he was lucky that none of the reflected bullets had hit him when he shot at the tank. He heard machinery move. Panicking slightly, he grasped the first thing he could, pulling out a rocket launcher. Grabbing it, he looked back up, ready to fire at the tank.

However, the man had beaten him there.

There was a ring of gunshots, the bullets flying out from the tank's twin machine guns. Lance dived back to where he was originally, the huge bullets piercing holes into the ground to his left. He pasted his back on the shelf nearby, crying out as a bullet grazed his shoulder, and he whipped around, jumping out at the last minute as he held up the rocket launcher, firing it straight at the tank.

Everything seemed to slow down around him. The recoil threw him back, and as he fell backwards, his eye traced the path of the rocket as it shot straight towards the tank. He watched it collide, and the last thing he heard was a colossal boom before it was replaced by a continuous ring, accompanied by a raging gold and orange and the billow of smoke and dust.


	14. XI - Valkyrie

_Is he... Dead?_

Lance coughed mutedly, his hearing drowned out by a continuous ring, picking up the rocket launcher and staggering to his feet. The force from the explosion had thrown him backwards, away from where he had last stood, and he had lost his bearings in the thick cloud of dust around him. He no longer had his adrenaline rush, and his eye started to hurt again, and his whole body ached from exhaustion. He rubbed his good eye, coughing continuously, dragging the used rocket launcher as he loitered around aimlessly, hoping to find somewhere to hide until the dust cleared.

He groped about him, looking for any stable structure. Suddenly, a silhouette loomed in front of him, and he moved forward, leaning on the cool metal. He coughed again as the dust entered his lungs, waving at the air around him as he set the used rocket launcher down.

Suddenly, he heard a clanging behind the metal he was leaning on. Lance jerked away, and as he heard more clanging and swearing, he realised it was coming from _inside_  the metal he was leaning on just a second ago.

_Great. GREAT._

He looked around, flustered, panicking. _He had been leaning on the damn tank._

'Curse that kid,' Lance heard the man swear again, and hearing that he was about to open the hood, he threw himself onto the flat upper part on the tank's side above the wheels. The man came out, sneezing as he breathed in the dust, swearing again, and he scanned around for Lance. 'Bullshit,' he concluded under his breath, and he went back into the tank. Lance breathed a sigh of relief, getting ready to get off, but he froze as the man started up the tank.

_Great. Just great._

\--

'Crap damn the kid - cracked my cameras, and all my other ammo, that jackass,' the man tapped on the fuzzy camera screen and messed with a few switches as red lights flashed in a few places, raging about Lance. He crawled back out again, hollering.

'YOU GODDAMNED KID! I SWEAR TO GOD THAT I'LL SELL YOUR ORGANS TO FIX MY TANK!'

Below, Lance crouched silently, hoping the black of his uniform and dust would help to camouflage and conceal him from sight. _Like people actually_  want _my organs?_  Lance retorted inwardly upon hearing the man.

The man looked around, snorting as he found no sign of Lance. Swearing one last time, he clambered beck into the tank, leaving the hubcap open as a viewpoint.

He huffed again, unaware that what he did might just cost him his life.

\--

The tank rolled on, Lance clutching desperately to it's side as he lay flat down on his belly, the robotic whir of machinery being the only audible sound as the tank's cannon swiveled around, scanning the area. The dust had started to clear, as well as Lance's mind, and having considered the odds, staying on the tank was his best bet at hiding as the man wouldn't be able to see him unless he came out and looked down. If that ever happened, Lance could just shoot him.

Thinking about it, if he managed to shoot the man, he could well keep the tank for himself. He could even use it to break into the Brawl Royale complex. Saving Matt would come much easier with the tank than if he were just a lone man laden with heavy ammunition.

That is, if he killed the man, and didn't destroy the tank any further.

Lance sighed, and stopped himself when he realised the noise he was making. He was almost on the brink of panicking again, having just gotten over his previous lapse. Lance held onto his gunblade as the tank creaked its way across the base, thinking of ways to kill the man.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea slammed into him.

_What an insensitive arse you've become._

He was almost nagging to himself, guilt fighting with the need to survive. He felt torn again, confused and alone.

_Don't. Feel!_

He tried to choke down all his feelings again, swallowing them all back with force. He tightened his grip on his gunblade, gritting his teeth. This was probably the worst time to discuss his feelings.

 _Get it over and done with. Over. And._  Done.

He hooked his gunblade back onto his belt, getting up and turning around, placing his foot on the ledge where he had sat. As his boot made a soft, metallic tap against the tanks armour, he couldn't help but cringe at the noise. He paused. Having received no reaction from the man, he continued climbing.

Lance forced himself into a state of unnatural calm. His face was set into a focused, unfeeling, determined look, and now with his mind clear, he proceeded up the tank much more steadily. The noise he made was much less, drowned out by the whirring machinery of the tank. As he approached the open hubcap, he slowly slipped his gunblade off his belt, positioning his right hand over the trigger.

_Seriously? Is this meant to be so easy?_

Lance felt that something was off. Suspicion creeped up as he positioned himself over the open hubcap, sitting on the side, facing outwards.

Lance counted under his breath, holding his gunblade up and preparing to fire.

_Three._

He loaded the gun, the soft click drowned out by the surrounding noise.

_Two._

His feelings rose up again. He knew he was going to kill a man on purpose. However, he shoved them back down, focusing on the mission at hand. 

However, he had made one mistake - he hadn't realised that the tank's cannon had long stopped moving.

_One._

With a swift movement, he whipped around, pointing the gunblade into the tank.

_Eh?_

With a small pang of worry, he noticed the tank was completely empty. There was not a single soul.

'Yo, scrawny!'

Lance turned around, facing the source of the sound. For a split second, he stared at his foe with widened eyes before he felt himself being shoved into the tanks cockpit.

'I long since knew you were in there the second you stepped on the side of my tank - anyway, take the tank for all I care! Good luck with your future endeavours!'

The man gave a quick wave, and bolted him in. Lance's heart rate quickened, the lights from the screens inside shining on his terrified face.

_Holy. Firetrucks._

\--

He knew it was rigged.

Somehow, he just knew.

He could sense a bomb somewhere, ticking down the time before it blew. It was probably the faint beeps that were mostly overpowered by the tank's noisy machinery that set off his alarms, but a bomb was a bomb, and a bomb meant instant death.

Lance got up, looking around for any weapons bigger than his gunblade. However, he found none. He forced down a wave of panic, willing himself to think.

_The man had gotten out somehow._

He just sat there, the thoughts running rapidly through his mind.

_He didn't use the exit via the hubcap._

_There's a secret, emergency exit._

Lance didn't see him come out, so there was probably only one possible explanation.

_The exit is at the bottom, or else on the other side where I wasn't seated._

Somehow, the bottom of the tank seemed a much better option for an emergency exit.

Lance placed himself flat down, feeling around for a handle, button of any sort. The beeping sounds were obviously more evident. Suddenly, his hand grabbed around a thin, metal bar, and wriggling it around, he lifted it up, and slid it to the side.

_Now I need to save the tank._

Lance poked his head out a little, watching the ground move below him. Fear crept up his gut like an acid. If he wanted to survive and not get blown to bits, he'd have to think fast.

_Think straight, boy. Think._

Lance shook his head, swallowing down the fear. He could hear the soft beeps distinctly now.

_Where's the bomb?_

He poked his head out a little, feeling his hair, having grown longer over time, brushing against the rough, uneven ground. He looked to both sides, and spotted a small, metal-encased bomb, the numbers on the timer flashing red, attached to the bottom of the tank. He saw the scrappily attached tape. Ripping out the bomb, he caught sight of the timer.

**_00.17.04_ **

The milliseconds rushed by, and in his panic, Lance fell out of the tank, crashing into the ground below, and he rolled to a stop as the tank rushed past, its tracks narrowly missing his foot. He brushed away the pain, bringing up the bombs timer to his face.

**_00.13.95_ **

_Noo no no no no-_

He looked around, desperate. The compound was still slightly clouded with dust, and all he could see were the rows of tanks, trucks and shelves of ammunition.

_What do I do?!_

He could attempt to cut the wires, but he had nothing in his possession that could cut the wires quick enough, and to put it straight, he probably didn't even have enough to time even open up the bomb.

_**00.12.12** _

Just then, he spotted movement in the corner of his eye. He could clearly see the silhouette of the man. He had started to run, and he wasn't far, judging from the number of tanks between Lance and the man. A cruel idea formulated in his mind, but if he were to survive, he had to follow it.

_**00.10.67** _

Lance got up as fast as he could, raising up the bomb and taking aim. He had one shot at this, and if he did anything wrong, he could be blown to pieces, or else kill the man, and blow up the whole compound together with the man and himself. Lance felt the stress as he felt his palms become slippery from sweat, and he forced himself not to think.

_**00.08.47** _

He screamed, bringing his hand down as fast as he could, flinging the bomb in the direction of the man. It flew through the air, and Lance almost felt time slow down around him as he prayed the bomb wasn't a big one.

_**00.07.26** _

The bomb landed just in front of the man. Lance watched as he halted in his steps, skidding across the ground as he whipped around, shooting a final, terrified look at Lance as he registered what had happened. Suddenly, as he stared at Lance, his face changed into one of shock and recognition.

'God damn it boy. You're Lance.'

_**00.04.02** _

Lance reeled back. ' _What?_ '

'I apologise for not recognising you earlier...' The man calmly continued as a smug smile seemed to play on his face. 'General.'

_**00.00.01** _

Time seemed to freeze. Lance felt almost nothing now: he only stood his ground, fixing the man with a deathly, blank stare. Then, the blast rattled through the area, and Lance did nothing as he watched the bright, orange flames engulf his enemy, ending the fight once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I'm going to explain why the man was willing to blow up his tank with Lance inside it.  
> Firstly, his tank was already damaged. Secondly, he has his stash of other tanks - it's easier for him to use another one than for him to fix what Lance did to his tank. About his tank stash, Lance has no idea it exists.
> 
> I will talk about general Lance later.


	15. XII - Silence

_Overthinking is a special form of fear_

_which becomes worse when you add_

_anticipation,_

_memory,_

_and imagination together._

\--Unknown

 

\--

Lance closed his eyes as he felt the wave of heat rush past him. The small shockwave from the blast brought a gentle breeze along with it, and warm air ruffled his hair and clothes.

_General...?_

A deathly silence followed the explosion once the ringing in his ears faded. Once again, he was the only living soul for miles to come

Lance looked down and whispered to himself. 'Me... " _General_..."?'

It slowly dawned upon Lance as he stood there, his mind blank except for the last sentence the man spoke before he killed him. The only sounds were the creaking from the tank as it rolled slowly on, the sound echoing and bouncing off the walls of the storehouse.

_The tank!_

Lance wanted to slap himself. He had spent the past hour or so fighting, losing his eye and risking his life to salvage the guys tank, and yet he had forgotten about it so easily. He turned around, and found the tank as it rolled straight into a pile of debris. The metallic creaking sounds echoed and resonated through the air as metal scraped against solid concrete, the  tank tilting up and trying to climb over. _Darn,_ he muttered as he rushed over. The tanks wheels continued to turn, and the sounds it made were terrible as it fought to climb over the pile of broken concrete.

As he ran, he suddenly felt a stinging, burning pain in his left eye. It was almost as if the gunshot had repeated itself, stabbing through his head again. He winced as he cupped his hand over his wound, feeling sticky, drying and clotting blood spread over almost half his face. He knew it was probably infected by now, and he had to tend to it quickly, but he insisted on settling the tank first.

He rushed over, panting as he reached the tank. As it rolled backwards and forwards, Lance sighed, deciding to get to the tank from its side. He climbed the side of the concrete pile, small stones rolling down as he tried to find footholds, and when he was high enough, he jumped, landing on the tank's side. There was a hollow clang as he landed, and he almost fell off again as the tank jerked backwards. He climbed to the top, attempting to undo the lock on the tanks hubcap.

  _How stupid to design a lock from the outside._

Lance sighed again, shooting off the lock with his gunblade. Jumping into the tank, he grabbed hold of the steering as if he had done it before many times, and he directed the tank away, and as he reached the nearest clearing, he turned off the engine. It was almost automatic for him - he hardly needed to think while he was controlling the tank.

The questions started to bloom in Lances mind again, but they were soon overpowered by the intense pain in his damaged eye. He groaned, getting out of the tank in search of any toilets or any sign of running water. If it was really as bad as it felt, he had to find bandages, or anything clean that could bind his wound.

\--

_I wonder who I was before this - all this happened._

Lance sat beside the tank, a bandage tied scrappily over his eye, a leather eye patch he had managed to scavenge in his hand as he faced the sunset. He had explored the entire complex, eventually found the man's dwindling food stash, and found he had access to an orbital ion cannon somewhere in space. Its gun was pointed directly at the Earth, and since Lance had found it was working and lacked any form of security, he had hacked its programme and programmed it to work for himself. He could now man it using a phone via voice command, but he had no idea how to set up any other security, so he ran the risk of other people hacking it as well. He held the chunky black satellite phone in his hand together with the eyepatch. How he knew how to hack it, he had no idea - his mind and hands had just worked and moved on their own. He was tired, and decided he would set off in search of Matt later. For now, he could rest in the silence.

Silence. Lance had begun to hate the silence. Silence was always around him, stalking him in his shadows, and always insisted it be with him. Silence gave him time to think, time to ponder, time to weigh out his emotions, time to hate and time to confuse himself and mourn over his previous life.

And he was sick of it.

He was always alone, and with loneliness always came silence. Whenever he was alone in the silence, the questions always came.

_Who were my friends? My family?_

Lance picked up his silver blade and stood up. He found his gunblade easier and more efficient to use in battle, but in the case of venting his anger, it was a different story.

_Why? Why has this all happened to me?_

Lance swung with all his might, the tip of the sword scraping the ground, and the horrible grinding noise it made when the sword struck concrete left a gaping scratch on the ground in it's wake.

_What is my purpose here? Is it nothing? To just kill or be killed?_

He swung the sword again,the air whooshing as the gleaming blade sliced through the atmosphere. The thought had ignited his anger and confusion again, and he creased his face into a frown.

_What? What should I do?_

Lance swung around a hundred and eighty degrees, bringing the sword down in a diagonal, downward slash.

_What am I meant to do? Why? What for dump me in such a miserable environment for me to just make it more miserable?!_

Lance was hacking away uncontrollably now. He didn't care how sore or tired he felt. He was angry, upset, confused, and the three had overpowered his other senses, swirling together in a dark, powerful mess of hate. The sun had begun to set, and the only sounds came from Lance. Surrounding him, was the silence he dreaded.

And it was driving him mad.

Lance threw his sword. It flew far to his right, clattering as it crashed into the concrete ground.

'WHY?! **WHY ME?!!!** '

Lance's cry echoed throughout the compound. Of course, no one answered. As the echoes faded, Lance was only left with the sound of his heavy breaths.

Lance sat down, exhausted, leaning on his tank. The German cross shone through the light coat of dust on its metal armor. He would have to fix the damage he had caused it sooner or later.

_All tanks have names, right?_

Lance pulled himself up, sitting on the wheel of the tank. As he looked at what he could see of his tank, he spotted no sign of a name of any sort.

Lance leaned back, closing his eyes.

'What could I name you?'

Lance put a hand on his tank. He couldn't think up anything related to tanks, but there was one name that kept prodding in the back of his head. He somehow knew it had to do with the assassination of some German dictator long ago, and surprisingly, he found it quite fitting.

He sighed, stroking the wheels of his tank.

'I'll call you Valkyrie then...' He muttered softly. Then, he drowned in his exhaustion, and before he knew it sleep pulled him in its embrace.

\--

Lance felt himself being swept away. It was the first time he had dreamed ever since he had woken up in this strange place, suffering from a bad case of amnesia. Within his dream, he found himself in a clean, almost white room, a large glass window looming in front of him. He walked forward, almost pressing his face against the cool, transparent surface. He saw people, places, buildings, structures, cars, everything that now lay in ruins in the world he lived in.

He caught sight of his own reflection, and inside he pulled back out of slight shock. The boy he faced was nothing like the mess he saw in the wolf's bloody reflection. Facing him now, was a younger, well-groomed boy, his hair extraordinarily straight and spiky, yet neat, reaching down to his nape, the striking auburn-red of his hair shining in the reflection of the sun. His eyes, the same striking colour as his hair, gleamed with youth and innocence.

However, what struck him most, was the man that walked out of the door behind him.

He caught the man's reflection in the glass, his familiar smile warming Lance right down to his toes.

This was the man who lay dead in the strange machine.

He realised, as he dreamed, that this was probably a memory, one his mind had finally managed to fish out after weeks of wandering and torture.

'Lance, my boy! Would you like to see my latest invention?'

The answer tumbled out of his mouth. After all, this was a memory: memories could not be changed. He could only watch it as himself, but from a distance far, far away. 'Yes, grand uncle!'

He jogged briskly towards his grand uncle, his feet making light taps on the almost glowing white marble tiles below. His grand uncle put his arm over Lance's shoulder, and the two of them strode off towards another room. Strangely, a smile eased itself onto his face. He felt light now, unburdened, as if nothing in the world bothered him.

_Where is my mom? My dad?_

The question suddenly hit him. He caught sight of an overexposed picture of a couple, a young boy about the age of three sitting between them. The man was tall, dressed in a high-ranking army officers coat, his dirty, white-blonde hair slightly long and shaggy. Despite being a little messy, Lance could feel his aura of authority permating through the photograph. Lance assumed he was around thirty, his arms outstretched and resting gently on the boy's shoulders. Although his smile was slight, his auburn eyes reflected all his joy in his family, especially his son. However, something troubled him.

_That man and his uniform..._

He turned his attention to the woman. She was stooped down, a basket in front of her. Her hair was that striking, auburn red, the same colour as his, cascading down in thick, shimmering curls. She was beautiful, and had the look of elegance and control. Her dress was complex, and it spoke of her affluence and rank in the social system.

It took a few moments for Lance to realise that the couple in the picture was his parents, and the boy was himself.

'Lance, are you alright?'

Snapped out of his daze, he realised he had stopped walking, and was standing rooted to the floor, gazing at the photograph. He faced his grand uncle, replying cheerfully, 'It's alright; I'm fine. Show me the thing you were talking about.'

 _I was_ _so_ terribly _happy,_ Lance commented to himself, meanwhile, as he sat back and watched inside his mind.

His grand uncle scowled. Lance let out a short laugh. His grand uncle was a kind person, and the scowl didn't suit his face. 'It's not just a _thing_ , dear boy, it's an _invention_! An invention has the power to change the world! Things, in comparison, are just, well, things.'

His grand uncle smiled again and held his hand, and the two started walking again. 'An invention carries with it power, depending on what it is. Some inventions may have more power than others, depending on how the power is demonstrated, controlled and unleashed.'

'But then every thing in existence right now has to have been invented at one point of time or another.'

His grand uncle laughed, and Lance smiled, and his grand uncle smiled with him. 'You miss your parents, don't you?'

The answer came to his mouth without him thinking. 'Yeah... Although I don't remember them much now...'

If he said the same words now, it would have been an understatement. He didn't remember his parents at _all_.

Lance's grand uncle sighed. 'I'm sorry about your loss, my boy, but... Its about time I told you... Your father and you were sucked into some simulation... They only managed to get you out and they couldn't find your father...'

Upon hearing this, Lance was struck with confusion. However, before he could find out anything more, he was swept away as he was snatched back into reality as dawn broke.

\--

 


	16. XIII - Strife

_Pain changes people._

_It makes them trust less,_

_Overthink more,_

_And shut people out._

\--Unknown

 

\--

Lance woke up, partially in shock.

_My father was sucked into a simulation..?_

Lance rubbed his eye, his head aching as he sat up.

_What did he mean?_

He looked over the horizon at the rising sun, the red, violet and royal golden colours of dawn splashed across the sky. Light bled into the area, spilling across the army base, and Lance felt the warm rays of the star as it touched his skin.

His dream echoed in his head, but he knew one thing was for sure: he had parents, but he had no idea of who they were.

He pushed those thoughts away. He couldn't focus on the things that he lost and could never reclaim. Although he had lost Matt, he could still get him back, but he had to move fast. Catching the glint of his sword lying in the ground, he ignored it, finding his gunblade more than sufficient now that he had Valkyrie, crawling back into the tank and venturing off, Valkyrie leaving a faint billow of dust in its wake.

\--

He still couldn't get over his supposed dad.

He sat at the side of the tank's cockpit door as it rolled on aimlessly, hopefully towards where he had started off. He had gone through a lot of trouble trying to guide the tank out of the forest, ploughing down trees and feeling the entire tank swing violently as he continuously ran over ditches and small streams. He was hot and sweaty, had unbuttoned his jacket, and had decided that he could enjoy some fresh air and gaze at the view while he traveled.

The man's snowy hair and deep auburn eyes remained etched in his mind. He had definitely seen the man somewhere. Even his uniform was familiar.

_The uniform._

Lance looked down at his own uniform, or the uniform he had plundered. Suddenly, he felt as if someone suddenly punched him in his gut.

_No. It can't be._

A wave of nausea slammed into Lance, and he doubled over. The man's image flashed through his mind - the striking, white-blonde hair and the reddish-brown eyes, his uniform exactly the same one he was wearing. He understood what the previous man who owned his Valkyrie tank had said now - he probably had lived in a hierarchical system, so when his dad died, and he had probably taken over temporarily as General, most likely with assistance, seeing his age.

 _No. Please,_ no.

He almost didn't notice he had said it aloud. He fell back into his tank, clutching his gut. He stumbled into the control room, his loud breaths competing with the continuous drone of machinery around him. The memory was suddenly so clear in his mind that Lance felt like it was piercing him. He saw the man, supposedly his father, raising up his rusted knife, his eyes wild and clouded with insanity, unaware he was about to kill his own son. But then, he himself being in his right mind had simply shot the man to high heaven.

In other words, he had killed his own father.

But how? How was his father even here in the first place? Hadn't he gotten stuck in 'some simnulation'? And what was the chance of them ending up together after everything that happened - less than a meagre percentage of a fraction?

_How?? How is this possible?!_

Lance gagged, letting out a strangled sob. The tank guy had been truthful all along, after all. No matter how much he tried to convince himself, he still found that he was completely at fault. Part of him was convinced that he had to do what he did when he shot his supposed father, but the other part of him insisted that he held the complete blame, and that he should take full responsibility.

 _That guy was insane._ _He_ wanted _you to kill him._

'No... I could have saved him... but I still killed him...'

 _You didn't know he was your father, and anyway he was mad to the point he didn't even recognise his own son. It does_  not _matter_.

'It matters. It matters. IT MATTERS!'

Never before had he felt so conflicted, and so confused. He felt as if both sides of his brain were fighting each other for dominance, tearing itself apart in the process. However, he kept trying, thinking of excuses to tell himself that no; what he had done was inevitable. However, excuses were excuses, and even if they were the truth, the fact still remained: he had killed his own father.

He clambered out of the tank, falling off and tumbling to the ground, the tank slowly rolling off without him. He got to his knees, and threw up whatever he had found in the army camp he had scavenged. Or, the army camp his dad had once belonged to and commanded. Stumbling, he stood up clumsily, his eyes wild with frustration, sorrow and regret.

_WHY? WHY ONLY GIVE ME BACK MY MEMORIES NOW?! WHY?!!_

'WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!' Lance screamed his guts out, although he wasn't sure who or what the question was directed at. The only reply he received was the echo of his own voice as his cry rolled across the horizon.

The tank, being on autopilot, had rumbled off without Lance, leaving him to chase after it and clamber back in. He fell back in his tank a second time, stumbling onto the floor, breaking into a quiet, heartbroken sob as he curled up on the floor in his tank.

His only hope now was Matt. However, he wasn't even sure if Matt was actually still around, or had already gone insane like his father. Thinking about it, his mother, even if she was alive, would have probably gone insane like his father long ago. He felt as if all hope had drained out of him, his willpower nonexistent.

 _You still have Matt,_ he reminded himself. _You have hope. Its minimal, but it's still hope._

He clenched his teeth, willing himself to stop crying. He pushed himself back up to his knees, his long, shaggy hair hanging over his face as he looked down at his hands.

_Take hold of your hope while you still have it. Grasp onto it before it disappears like everything else. You have to. Please._

He covered his face with his palm, sobbing into his hand one last time before wiping his tears away.

_Once life shatters your last piece of hope, you can give up. For now - as long as you have hope, treasure it like your life._

_My life._  What was his life worth anyway? He didn't really value his life anymore - even hope itself had an even higher value than his life. He would have gladly killed himself if he was sure that he could simply float up to paradise and live happily ever after for aeons.

_No. If Matt's alive, his life depends on you. He saved your life - you'd better return the favour._

Lance got back to his feet, leaning against the inner metal walls of the tank, his head buried in his elbow. Reality flooded back into his mind, and he was only reminded of how cruel life was, how it never waited for anyone, how it had no pity, a channel of misery that only led to further misery and eventually death.

'Fine,' he declared. 'Fine... One last stand.'

Lance took up his gunblade as he clambered out of the tank. He sat back where he originally  was, and he breathed in the acrid, burning air as he passed into the burning area of mass destruction where he had once roamed. All the pain and sorrow he had went through the past few weeks, more or less, was reflected in his deep, auburn-brown eyes. He made a silent prayer, wishing that life could grant him his final wish.

'Please... Let Matt be alive and well. I give my life... Just don't shatter my last hope.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright - I know the real ebf Lance had an abusive father and all and he lived in Minecraft and he hates creepers etc but let's make this story more dramatic and devastating than it has to be okay Okay Good


	17. XIV - Matt

_It amazes me what humans can do,_

_even when streams are flowing down their faces_

_They stagger on,_

_coughing, and searching, and finding._

\--Markus Zusak, _The Book Thief_

 

\-- 

Lance was almost sure he had already coughed up some of his lungs.

He was not used to the smoky, stale and thick air that smeared the entire horizon, having been breathing the forest air for a while. He stood up, his arms crossed over the side of the tanks cockpit opening as he scanned the horizon. If he ever found Matt, he decided he would bring him to the forest to make a living, and he could make use of all the bombs, tanks, etc. He didn't know how Matt would deal with the lack of swords, but that wasn't an immediate concern.

He coughed again as a lungful of smoke attacked his respiratory system. Thinking about it, not for the first time, he was totally sure that something that happened here had caused this mass destruction not too long ago.

_What is 'not too long ago' now, anyway..._

Suddenly, the tank shook violently and lurched upward. He was thrown off his tank to the side, landing on his shoulder. He grunted, feeling the rough sand scrape against his face.

However, he realised it wasn't the tank that had been shaking.

It was the earth itself, swinging back and forth violently as though it was splitting in two. The solid ground seemed to have become liquid, the flat horizon now moving in coherent waves.

Lance ran towards his tank as fast as he could, losing his balance as he fell into the cockpit. Immediately he clambered up and glanced around the horizon. He noticed hairline cracks were forming in the ground as the sand fell between the gaps, slowly revealing the deadly depressions. They kept widening, slowly branching towards Lance as they kept expanding.

Lance immediately increased Valkyrie's speed, forcing the tank to forge ahead as fast as it could. The cracks were expanding slower now, but the earthquake showed no sign of stopping. The tank rattled as it rolled across the waving ground, and Lance kept going in and out of the tank to check on the speed of the tank and where the cracks were.

Suddenly, the ground gave a huge lurch, and Lance was thrown upwards as the entire horizon shifted upwards towards the sky. He yelped as his back crashed into the tanks ceiling, and as he fell back down he almost crushed his arm. There was the sickening sound of ground breaking below, and Lance switched the tanks gears to zero as it fell, for fear that it would flip when it struck ground. He held on inside his tank, grunting as the tank struck the earth again. He was glad he had done the upgrades and strengthened Valkyrie - if not, he would have definitely been unable to survive he fall.

Suddenly, all was still.

Lance cowered, his whole body aching. He coughed as the dust in the tank settled, billowing around in thin clouds, its swirls ready to reveal the destruction it hid. Silence once again echoed throughout the horizon, as if every living thing had been stripped away again. Lance could almost imagine a sea of death, with the dying people sprawled out helplessly across the horizon, the deep red of blood reigning the land and sky.

Just that now, there had been no people or life to begin with.

He silently wondered where that thought came from as he slowly clambered his way out, his arms aching with every movement. He couldn't have simply concocted it from nothing.

_Maybe that thought was a memory._

He shook his head, pushing his assumption away. He could leave it for later. He pulled himself back to the present, and prepared himself for the destruction that lay ahead.

\--

It was all dust and smoke.

It was dark, the weak light from the smoke-shrouded sun hardly managing to permeate through the billowing dust.

Lance felt a gentle breeze brush past his hair. He didn't know if it was a blessing as the dust cleared, but he wasn't sure as the horizon came into view again.

Again, what he faced was a carnage worse than ever before.

A giant crack split the earth into two, hairline cracks webbing out from various places along the newly formed fissure, various sedimentary rock and precious metals strewn here and there having been thrown up from the ground. The earth looked as if it had just suffered a grim laceration, the crack slowly widening, the stone below groaning. The sky was still the same blood red, clogged with thick grey smoke.

Lance clambered out, cautiously placing his feet on the floor. There was the crunch of sand and dry soil, with the solid thump of earth below. Lance decided he was safe for now.

He slowly moved forward towards the edge of the plain. His footsteps rang clear as the sand softly crunched against his boots, and so far nothing had collapsed beneath him. His jacket billowed as he walked, the gentle wind perhaps the only reassuring thing he had experienced since he lost Matt.

His footsteps made a soft crunch as he stopped at the edge of the earth's half on which he stood. He felt a gentle rush of heat from below, and as he looked down, part of him couldn't believe his eyes. He could catch a sliver of galaxy far down below, and he could see the earth's core, a hellish, glowing ball of fire now set free from its place in the centre of the earth.  If he observed closely enough, he could see the lava easing out from wherever it was once held hostage, maneuvering slowly in varying directions like sickly, labored old men.

Lance just stood there, feeling the despair emanating from him. It was almost as if his feelings had affected the earth itself, his conflicted feelings over his fathers death stabbing through the earth itself and making themselves known.

He contemplated. He could simply jump, end his life right here, right now, and not bother about whatever tortures he would have to face later. His death would be quick, effortless and painless.

 _No. Matt is_ still _alive._

Lance didn't know where the thought came from. The more he thought about it, the more confident he felt that Matt was there, somewhere, waiting to be rescued. All his doubt had been suddenly washed away, and hope now compelled him like an overwhelming force.

 _I_ have _to get to him._

Lance tore himself away from the cliffs edge, rushing back to his tank. He followed his instincts, moving parallel to the edge of the newly formed cliff.

He didn't know, but something - something simply told him that the earthquake had something to do with Matt, and that he was alive. Alive, but maybe not well.

 _Better than dead,_ he reassured himself. He didn't just believe Matt was alive.

He was sure of it.

 

\--

It had been pretty long.

Matt sat at the side of the wrecked arena on a chipped, squarish piece of concrete, the building now looking no better than the ruins around it. The ground was separated exactly where he had sliced the rogue, demon-possessed dead body that everyone named Zombie Goku. He couldn't even call it that - he didn't even know _what_ it was exactly.

He still vaguely recalled the day they had been caught escaping with another boy. His friend.

_Who? What was his name?!_

He bit his lip, grasping his head. Ever since they fed him that drug, he had been exceptionally hyper, losing his rationality at essential times, and his memories from before then had begun to slip away, including his knowledge.

And he hated it.

He still remembered the bittersweet taste of the toxic blue liquid as they force-fed him, and the acidic burn as it passed through his system. They had left him there in the room, and he had simply laid there and wept, all hope stolen from him. Ever since, he had felt like he was slipping away, no matter how much he had tried to grasp onto himself and bring himself back.

Sometimes, suddenly, a sudden wave of carefree would just sweep over him, and knock him off his feet. He would be like _oh I have no care in this world I'm gonna be happy-go-lucky because the world's got nothin' to do with me_  and just lose himself for a moment, insulting random people for the fun of it and laughing at himself over stupid matters before Natalie would bring him back to earth.

Natalie. He had no idea why he had spared Natalie. She wasn't that good a fighter - at least not as good as he was. He was high when he first fought her, pointing at her much-larger-than-normal breasts and joking like a mad pervert until he was snapped back to his senses when she glared at him like she wanted to bleed his soul out of him with a rusted dagger. After that, he had returned to his senses, embarrassed and angry at himself, and he stayed quiet for the rest of the practice match and walked off in silence after he won by leveling his sword with her neck. He had no idea why she had followed him, and asked him if they had fed him the drug. It surprised him, how much she could decipher simply out of his behaviour, but it had been a simple 'yes', and he just cried, telling her all that he could remember at that time. She just stood there and listened, and when he finished, she asked if she could do anything to help, and that the effect would slowly wear off over time. Eventually, he told her how he had come here, how he had roughly made a living, and about Lance and their escape attempt.

 _Lance._ Yes - his name was Lance. Silently, he wondered if he was still alive out there in that barren wasteland, whether he had remembered him at all, or if he had just run off, only caring about his own life.

He was a little upset about Lance. He had sat around the Brawl Royale complex, waiting with Natalie for the past two or so days, in the hope that maybe, somehow, Lance would return. He should have had plenty of time, the competition having been delayed two weeks because of what happened. He had heard the Head's discussion over him as he lay in the lab opposite to their meeting room, feeling as if he was dying as the acidic burn etched itself deep into his bones and brain the day after they fed him the drug. Some of the higher up people managing the Brawl Royale tournament had mentioned that he was strong, and the fact that the drug had not yet killed him was evidence of his extreme willpower and strength. They had argued about how good his skills were, and how they did not want him, a gem of the arena, to die in the first few rounds simply due to an illegal drug they had recklessly fed him for punishment.

 _We should banish that lady,_ a low, deep voice had commented under his breath. _Give him time to recover,_ another said. _I bet you at three quarters of his strength he can conquer the whole arena._

However, there was the other half who just did not care at all.

_I'm not going to postpone the games, and why do you even care so much about a little boy, huh?_

He had heard someone bang a table, and a masculine growl followed.

_It would be lost entertainment if he dies, and lost entertainment means lost money. You don't want that, do you? He's the most expensive fighter we have in our arena, and he's been the one everyone's keeping track with. The people like him the most. If we kill him, and if they find out why, there'll definitely be a riot._

That was all he was. Entertainment. But somehow, by some miracle, an announcement had followed an hour after the meeting, saying they would give everyone two more weeks to train due to 'technical errors'. Of course, he knew the 'technical error' was him. Back then, he wasn't sure to be grateful for the person who had spoken on his behalf, or if he was offended to be referred to as simple, expendable 'entertainment'. After all, they only wanted to make money out of him and everyone else.

Despite all their statements, the managers weren't so sure as to whether Matt could even survive the two weeks. He had coughed up blood during the first few days after taking the poison, and terrible nosebleeds frequented every night. It stopped after the first week, and he had felt better, but then that was when the mild memory losses started to happen, as well as the personality fluctuations. However, the managers who were on his side during the meeting had been completely right. Despite everything, and all the disabilities inflicted on him, here he was, laying in the ruins of the whole arena, having just killed possibly the most powerful monster known in existence.

He scraped the tip of his sword on the ground. The thin layer of sand and dry soil atop rock parted as the blade passed through. As time passed, the time he spent sane became less and less as compared to the time he spent crazy and in an involuntary high. He wasn't sure whether to be worried or not, because while he was himself, he spent his time being melancholic and depressed, thinking about everything and being generally unhappy. When he was experiencing his high time, he would experience genuine (maybe) happiness, and through his self-consciousness, he realised he was actually more optimistic.

He sighed, swiping his sword horizontally, the high pitched scrape of metal against rock echoing throughout the destroyed Brawl Royale complex. He felt as equal a wreck as the ruin he sat in. His hair had grown, his golden hair reaching his shoulder blades, his fringe long and unkempt. He had parted it, and swept it to one side to keep it out of his eyes. He didn't feel like grooming himself anymore - he found no use in it. Natalie had said his new look was nice, but he just shrugged it off. He didn't really know what he looked like now, for there were no mirrors in the complex. The only clues he had of himself for now were the occasional glances of his reflection in his blade.

He felt so stupid, forgetting everything. Once, he had woken up horrified, having forgotten who he was temporarily. Natalie, while being slightly embarrassed, stated his name (Matt Roszak), Lance, and said he had eyes deeper and bluer than anyone else she had ever seen. It was the only thing he remembered now of her description of him, having lost the rest to his fading memories. He looked through the reflection on his sword, and found it true - the drug had probably enhanced the blue in his eyes, but what she had said was exact. The blue of his irises was like the concentrated essence of a thousand sapphires. If he ever forgot himself, at least people could remember him for his eyes, the deep blue of it and the despairing storms that raged inside.

Suddenly, someone placed a hand on his shoulder, dragging him out of his thoughts. He saw Natalie's mop of soft, fluffy orange hair fall over her shoulder as she sat down, shimmering in the dim light. Matt sighed, bringing his sword up and placing it on the concrete block beside him.

'This is the last as far as I know,' Natalie started, placing a fat chunk of partially-rotted steak and a few withered celery stalks in Matt's hand. 'We can't wait for Lance forever - you know that.'

'Are you sure this is the last?' Matt turned to face Natalie, a startled look on his face. She had taken her ribbon, and was beginning to tie up her hair.

'I searched the entire butchers, as well as the small grocers they have at the back. This is all there's left, unless you want to chew on the bones of some rotted old cow.'

'But how can this be? They had lots of food before! It couldn't have all simply disappeared in just two days, right?'

Natalie glanced at Matt, an almost expressionless look playing on her face. 'People fled from here after you killed the zombie. They were scared you'd kill them too. Before they flee, of course they need supplies, right? They couldn't just run out to the wilderness with no food.'

Now that she mentioned it, it made sense to Matt. With the entire of population of refugees and warriors residing in the Brawl Royale complex, when everyone fled, they would have grabbed all the food and items they could before hurrying off and participating in a mass stampede, meaning most of the food would have been taken by the large crowd.

People scared of him killing them? He almost laughed. Almost. But he understood their fear. Even Natalie had been afraid - in the last round, he had literally glowed, a red aura around him, the blue of his eyes a piercing flash through the atmosphere. At least, that was how Natalie had described him. The whole arena had erupted in a flash as he struck the demonic _thing_ , and Natalie had told him that she wondered if she had lost her eyesight for the long five seconds or so. The whole earth had then erupted into a giant earthquake, the earth separating exactly where he had sliced the monster in two. When the light faded and the dust cleared, she faced his back as he had stood at the edge of the crack, which was a straight, thin slit parting the arena perfectly into two, facing the crowd, a silent menace shooting out through his then ice-cold eyes.

Matt had remembered that moment. He had felt a swirl of emotions erupt within him, his sanity returning to him that moment he brought his sword down on the crazy beast. He was angry, enraged at the managers for underestimating him, treating him like just another piece of dirt in their way; triumphant, proud of the fact he had proven himself, and had soared high above his and everyone's expectations; in disbelief, for he never knew he was that powerful, and a million other feelings, all churning inside him as he stood there, glaring at the spectators and warriors with a gaze that could freeze fire. His mind was blank. He let his emotions control him then, and being the mess they were, nothing could register, leaving him frozen in place.

It was as if time had stopped then. A deafening silence seemed to have frozen the air, the atmosphere turning into a solid block of ice. As Matt thought about it, he probably could have even lifted up his sword to cut it. It remained like that until there was a sudden quick movement, the managers who had punished him now trying their best to slip away and flee. A scream had followed, and suddenly the entire arena was filled with movement, a massive stampede on the brink of taking place. Feet kicked up dust as they skidded across the ground, the shrill screams of terrified humans piercing people's brains, overpowering the groans and calls for help from people who had fallen, and were being trodden on without mercy as everyone fled, selfishly caring only about their own lives.

In a few minutes, the entire arena had been emptied, except for him, Natalie, and a few dying people strewn around, bleeding, having been stepped on by at least a hundred people each. Matt had thrown down his sword, letting it clatter to the ground, and he had walked off and disappeared, leaving Natalie alone in the half of the empty arena where they both stood.

He had hidden himself among the rubble, not knowing what to do with his life. He wasn't sure whether to laugh, or cry, or scream, or all three at once. So, he had just sat there in silence, letting the hours crawl by as he sat there absently. Natalie had found him eventually, given him back his sword (which she had miraculously, the thing being so heavy, dragged all over the arena in search of him) and she was almost on the brink of tears, for fear that he had left her there to die. She had begged him to stay with her, not to leave her. She pleaded with her sky blue eyes, and Matt could see all the fear in them. He had not said anything, for he was confused as to what to do with his life. How could he manage her life if he didn't know how to manage his own?

However, as he had sat there thinking, he found that Natalie gave him purpose. He was now held responsible for someone's life, and could decide whether to save her or to leave her to her own devices. He decided then, his purpose, for now, was to save her.

He had stood up, Natalie pausing in her sobs. It was a simple sentence, really, but it was what started the connection between the two of them. He had faced the gap between the rubble, not looking at her, his voice flat and dead. 'Natalie, help gather any food you can.'

And that was how it started. Matt had silently sworn to protect her from then on, and Natalie had seemed to get the message. It had only been two days, not counting the time they had spent together when Brawl Royale still stood, but it seemed they had known each other for forever.

Natalie's voice pulled him out of his thoughts again. 'So what do you plan on doing? Do we keep waiting and try not to starve, hoping that Lance will come, or do we go and leave a note or something? But, if he does come back when we're gone, I don't think he'd be too happy.'

Matt stood up, picking his sword up from the concrete boulder. The blade scraped against the hard rock as he dragged it off, hitting the hard ground with a muffled clank as the tip of the blade made contact. He could feel how empty his stomach was, the exhaustion from deprivation of food creeping through his body. If this kept up, he and Natalie might just die here of starvation.

'We go.'

Natalie widened her eyes. 'Really? We leave? What if Lance is on his way? Right now?'

'We leave a message, just as you mentioned.'

Natalie looked around. 'But how? It's going to take us forever to carve a message in the cement or something, and even if we do I don't think Lance can find it-'

Matt scraped his blade across the hard, sand-covered ground. The sand parted as his blade passed through to reveal the dark concrete under it, forming a perfect line where his sword cut across. 'There's always this.'

Natalie squinted her eyes slightly in thought. 'But then... I suppose it never rains, and there's hardly any wind here... I suppose its legit... But how will he see it?'

'Uhm...' Matt's mind suddenly ran dry. He felt as if someone had pulled out a plug and drained out all his ideas. He grimaced, groaning, burying his face in his hands.

'I had it... I  _had_  it...' Again, he felt hopeless. He knew it was coming soon. And once it overtook him again, he wouldn't know if he would ever wake up sane again.

It was always like this. Ideas and thoughts would suddenly float out of his head, disappear at the most essential of times, and five or so minutes later he would nearly completely lose himself. He didn't know how, he didn't know why. It just happened, and it was because of that toxic blue potion.

Natalie, seeming to understand what was about to happen, stood up and held him by the shoulder. 'It's okay, I have an idea. It may not work, but there's still a chance. You write your message to him around here, and I'll fix the rest.'

Matt clenched his teeth, trying to choke his sobs back down his throat. He hated it, he hated the fact he was losing himself, and what he hated even more was that he could not do anything about it. He hated being not in control, especially of himself. He muttered a soft 'okay' before he gently brushed Natalie off to write his message. Natalie went off to carry out what she planned on doing. He was in a hurry, not knowing when he would lose his sanity again.

He slowly scratched the words into the sand. He hoped his handwriting was legible, much less sensible. He wasn't good at writing, but at least he could read, and he was still proud of the fact that he was slightly more learned than the others at Brawl Royale. However, he wouldn't be for long, not after what they had done to him.

**_Lanse_ **

He stopped for a while, wondering if he had spelled his name right. He scrubbed it off, rewriting it.

_**Lens** _

_No, no one is called_  lens, he chided himself. He decided to go with the first name he wrote.

**_Lanse,_ **

**_Nateli and I haf made it out of braul royael. we ren out of food and coodnt wait. sory._ **

**_Matt_ **

He put his sword at the side.

_Looks legit._

He sighed. Knowing that he would soon lose the little knowledge he had made him feel hopeless. He wondered if he would ever recover.

Matt hated himself. He never knew if he would ever say it, but...

'I hate everything...'

He sat down on the sand, crossing his legs in front of him. He sighed, resting his head on his hand. He tried to think, but his mind was empty. He closed his eyes, a single tear falling down his cheek. He wanted to sleep, and never wake up again.

He felt someone comb a hand through his hair and untangle a knot. He turned to see Natalie. He quickly swiped a hand across his face, getting up, hoping she hadn't seen him cry.

'Sorry, your hair was messy - anyway, I kind of put a spell on the area, so the first place he'll go to will be right where you're standing now. I hope it works, though it probably won't. Let's just hope.' She tapped her scrappy staff on the ground, and Matt half expected it to break. He almost couldn't even make out the design of the staff now, and he kind of looked down on her for not taking good care of her weapons.

 _Maybe I should help find her a better staff... But I suppose she doesn't really need anything sharp or gleaming or whatever,_  he thought to himself. _Maybe even a stick could work for a mage..._

He imagined Natalie carrying a stick and going around burning people. He giggled, before stopping himself.

_What am I doing..._

He sighed, shaking his head. He turned to Natalie before starting off.

'Let's go, Natalie, we'd better move if we want to find food before we die.'

Natalie just nodded. He was happy to have someone so understanding with him, for she never once got angry at him after that glaring incident which brought the two of them together. She seemed to understand everything.

Later, the two of them could be seen walking out of the ruined Brawl Royale complex, Matt laughing hysterically over nothing, while Natalie followed behind wordlessly, smiling at him sadly. Knowing this talented boy was going to completely lose himself sooner or later, it hurt her to know that neither he nor herself couldn't do anything to help him, and it hurt her even more to know that she couldn't do anything to ease his enormous burden.

However, in this state, he was happy, and Natalie found that she could appreciate his senseless joy. She found that she could always appreciate him, no matter how crazy he was, no matter how depressed he was, no matter how he was.

Natalie smiled sadly again. He had taken care of her while he could: it was now her turn to return the favour.

 _Hopefully.._. she wished quietly to herself, _His mind is strong... hopefully... he will get better... no - he_  will _get better._

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moral of the chapter: don't do drugs, kids, its bad for you. Even Matt knows (because I forced him to know-//*stabbed*)


	18. XV - Haunted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, i got confused writing this part, so be patient with me. thanks.

_I've tried carrying the weight of the world_

_But I only have two hands._

\--Avicii

 

\-- 

Lance grumbled to himself in his tank, the rain clattering against the metal walls of his vehicle, preventing him from sleeping. It didn't make it any better that he had gotten himself wet and muddy after only just successfully managing to get his tank out from a small pothole in the ground, and he had to hang up his muddy pants and long-sleeved shirt outside on his tank in order to not mess up the the tank's cockpit. He was lucky he had left his long officers coat inside, or he would have to have gone commando after the dirty job. 

 _How on_ earth _does it rain here, and so suddenly at that,_ he grumbled.

He pulled the officers coat around himself, smoothing it down. It made no sense that such a dry place would suddenly rain; and rain as if God himself was emptying his entire heavenly-sized swimming pool on the earth.

 _I suppose if I could find a forest in such a godforsaken place, the land should eventually recover after the smoke disappears and the fires burn out..._  He paused, thinking to himself. _Pity I can't drink the rainwater... the smoke would have contaminated it..._

He sighed again, exasperated. Exasperated with the world, with himself, with basically everything. He had decided to follow the direction of the crack, which was closing back in on itself slightly day by day. He groaned to himself, having to endure the boredom of travelling for another long period of time. He checked his food stash, picking up an empty can by accident, and he got a whiff of rotten food remnants, gagging as he threw it to the side. He swept his hand below the control panel where he had decided to keep majority of his things, dragging out a small can of corned beef and his gunblade.

He groaned again. One thing he could never forgive himself for was how he had all the time in the world to take all the canned food he wanted back in the abandoned army camp, but had completely forgotten to take a can opener. He stabbed the sharp end of his gunblade into the edges of the can, trying to cut and pry it open. When the rain ended, he decided he would clear up the mess he had accumulated over time, the smell from the remnants and smears of food he couldn’t take out in the cans starting to get to him.

He wondered how long away from the Brawl Royale complex he was. Above all, he wondered if Matt was already dead.

_No, don't jinx it. Don't._

The can popped open, some of the corned beef spilling from the side. Quickly dumping his gunblade to the side, he pushed the corned beef that was about to fall out back into the can. He could not waste any food if he were to survive.

Using his scoop, which he had haphazardly fashioned out of another can top during his spare time, he sparingly took a serving before he was thrown upwards, half of his meal flying out of the can as his tank rolled over a surprisingly large object, probably an animal carcass, before crashing back on solid ground again. Lance swore, irritated at the extra mess he had to clear and at the loss of his essential dinner. He put everything back down on the floor of his tank, sweeping his hand across the corned beef-speckled ground and switching his tank off autopilot. The tank gently creaked to a halt. The constant, metallic shuffle the rain made as it continued to thrash itself against his tank was all that could be heard now apart from Lance's breaths.

Lance felt exhausted, having piloted his tank for more than a day without any breaks. He swept the corned beef on the floor to one side, and laying his head down, he immediately passed into a deep sleep, one that enveloped him, and insisted on never letting him go until it showed him everything it had in store for him.

\--

Lance felt a falling sensation.

Normally, he would have woken up, but this was entirely different. He felt as if he was bound in both Sleep's and Death's chains, both fighting over him and driving into a coma from physical and mental exhaustion.

 _So much personification..._ He thought to himself solemnly.

He felt as if he was swept to another place. He landed sitting upright, in a white, plain room, with glass windows spanning one entire length of his room and silk curtains draped on one side. It felt as if he was inside a film, the movie of his own life. A faint light shone into the room, grayed by the thick, coagulated haze outside. A simple desk, plain but large, along with a leather computer chair, stood beside his bed. His red cap, which he had long left behind, lay on the desks pristine, white surface. Two glass cupboards, built into the wall, stood adjacent to a glass bookshelf, which was crammed with books of all sorts.

_This... Is my house... again..._

Lance took a deep whiff of air. It was cool, fresh, and nothing like the air he had experienced for the past few months or so. He stood up, a sense of renewal flowing throughout his body. He no longer felt tired or weary; it was as if the entire burden of life had ceased to exist.

_This... Is where I once lived._

For once, he wished he had the choice to stay in this dream, never to wake up, to forever stay in his memories, and to discover who he truly was.

He walked over to the window, and pressed his cheeks to the surface. The glass was cool, and his breaths left a white steam on its clean, dustless surface. He caught a faint glimpse of his reflection. He looked about as old as he was now, his hair the same shimmering, deep reddish auburn, his irises the same colour, and he looked full of youth and health. As he looked further, he caught glimpses of buildings behind the swirling fog and haze outside. He realised, the haze just outside his window was another question that needed to be answered.

'Lance, my boy, why don't you come here to see this?' He turned his head to the direction of the sound. In the pure, white-framed doorway stood a man in his late fifties, with an old, friendly face, round glasses, sparkling eyes and greying hair under a dark blue beret. He stood clad in a jersey, long trousers and moccasins, his face beaming with pride. It was the same man in his previous dream, just slightly older.

Lance strode over to him, taking his hat as he passed by it. It seemed that his red cap used to hold some meaning to him before he lost his memories. He felt a slight twinge of guilt for leaving it behind with the dead man he killed.

'What is it?' He asked automatically, without even thinking. 'Follow me, then,' the man continued, 'what I'm going to show you has the power to change the entire universe.'

Lance felt interest and curiosity blooming in him, and trustingly, he followed the old man. Strangely, he felt a sense of affection towards the old man, but Lance didn't even know his name. Inwardly, he sighed. However, he knew that the mans name would come to him, soon enough, hopefully. His thoughts were interrupted when they entered a bright room, filled with faint, natural light coming from outside. This room was much brighter than his, glass panels spanning two walls from floor to ceiling. As he looked around, the man placed a hand on his shoulder, turning him in the direction he wanted him to face.

In front of him stood a piece of technology. The machinery was about twice the height of the average man, and looked like a round capsule with blades beneath to support it. It was spray-painted a bright red, it's clean surface reflecting the room around. Two small wings protruded from each of its sides, with two rockets beneath each. Lance reached out to touch its smooth, cool surface.

'What d'ya think, my boy? Isn't it impressive?'

It was in fact, impressive. However, as Lance watched it from his memories, it felt familiar, but not in a good way.

Lance glanced over at the old man. 'Mr Worthington, I don't suppose you've come up with a new automobile?'

 _Mr Worthington?_  He wondered. _He's my grand uncle - why call him that?_

The statement left him utterly confused. But he said nothing, for he didn't have the ability to. After all, he was only watching a small strip of film, taken from the lost movie of his previous life.

Mr Worthington shook his head, laughed and ruffled Lances crimson brown hair. 'No, nephew. From the looks of it, you have more looks than intelligence. Can't you remember what project I have been working on for the past few years?'

Lance was more than confused now. A part of him was apprehensive, and it was almost as if he knew that he was about to discover something he wished he never had. However, his self in his memories just continued.

'I'm sorry grand uncle... But I'm afraid the memory has escaped me.'

 _I'm so formal,_ Lance snorted at himself.

The old man just smiled, and placed a warm, calloused hand on Lance's delicate shoulder. 'Deary me, I shall refresh your memory for you then. This is the new time machine, sonny, and I shall be testing it together with you.'

_Time machine? How..._

The Lance in his memories recalled the recent case study the world-renowned scientist had published. Basically, he recited, time travel would never be possible, as black holes would form throughout space due to different time periods all merging, and the whole world would either be obliterated, or times would all merge together to form an entire universe that only spelled destruction.

_Wait... this sounds familiar......_

Lance stood his ground as his uncle stepped into the time machine, pulling him along gently. He opened his mouth to start.

'Uh... Grand uncle...'

'What's the matter, sonny? Too nervous?'

The Lance in his memories froze where he was. His uncle had been working so hard on this project for so long, surely he couldn't ruin his uncle's pride.

He promptly shook his head. 'It's nothing.'

The bright smile returned to his grand uncle's face. 'Well come on then, I cannot wait to start this baby up!'

They stepped inside as two automated steps came down as the door slid open. As they entered, a heavy recognition hovered upon him, but he still didn't know what it came from.

Mr Worthington fired up the machine. Diagrams appeared throughout the time machines window, and various buttons lit up on a flat, glass surface. Holograms lit up in various places. Despite all his worries, Lance himself couldn't help but marvel at his grand uncle's creation.

'This is my pride, Lance - enjoy it.'

As he looked around, his eyes widened suddenly, and he almost retched. Shock overcame him as he finally realised exactly what this machine was

It was the one he had found himself in, together with the now dead man he finally knew as Mr Worthington, his grand uncle, where he had lost his memories, and was left with nothing but his name.

_No. NO. WAKE UP. GET ME OUT OF HERE._

'State a date, sonny. We'll be there in no time.'

_Don't say anything. No. NO!!!_

However, he knew he could not change anything, for all of this was a playback of his own memories.

_SHUT UP!!!_

'February 27th, 1819.'

_No... I don't want to relive this...... no...!_

His uncle pressed a few buttons on the dashboard. 'Well, off we go!'

They lifted off, driving straight into the floor-to-ceiling windows, smashing them apart. Glass rained down like glitter onto the road below. They continued picking up speed.

'This needs to reach a hundred kilometres a hour before it can time travel!' Mr Worthington yelled. 'It should be easy when there's plenty of sky!'

_STOP FLYING...!_

Soon enough, as they reached optimum speed, their surroundings warped into a blue space. Neon strings floated around as they passed through.

_No no no no no-_

'Let's see... 1819... Which pass do we go through...'

Lance gazed around. The neon strings appeared to be different times. It was beautiful, being able to look at time in such a different way. However, that beauty did not last for long, and even so, he could no longer appreciate it.

'Mr Worthington...'

'Yes, my dear Lance! What is it?'

Lance slowly turned his attention from his uncle to the timelines. 'Those lines... They're... Merging...'

Surely, they were all merging. They were twisting around each other, condensing into a single timeline. Every single existing time and period, forming into one.

The past, the present and the future.

 _No...... Please...... I don't want to relive this......_

'Uncle!' His voice was trembling, laced with worry, and he sounded as if he had become six years younger.

'Lance! You've got to help me with the controls!' His uncle took hold of the machines movements, trying desperately to stabilise the  rattling time machine. 'Take over the monitors! We need to get out of here somehow!'

Lance tried his best to figure out whatever the monitors were displaying. Suddenly, the machine took a violent swing, and a crash was heard as the toolbox flew off its hook and crashed to the opposite side. Drills, screwdrivers, wrenches and the sort made deafening, metallic clashes as they smashed against the floor. Suddenly, the calm blue lights of the dashboard turned into a threatening orange and red, and sirens started to sound.

'Uncle?!' There was no reply. 'UNCLE!!!'

He whipped his head around, and his cap fell off as some of his hair fell in front of his face. He recognised this scene, and inwardly, he felt exactly the same as when he first experienced it. The screwdriver had not only pierced his uncles brain, but Lances heart as well; the bloodstains would not only leave its mark on the floor of the machine, but on the rest of Lances life.

Lance shut his eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek. It only reminded him of everything he had been through since Lance had woken up without his memories, and a final cry escaped his throat.

'WHY MUST EVERYTHING BE TAKEN FROM ME?!'

And then, the machine jerked with another violent swing, and nothingness wrapped itself around Lance again as he was flung out of his memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About his grand uncle's surname, it just kept prodding at me while I was writing this, but I found out later that I accidentally stole it from one of the characters from Looking For Alaska.  
> Anyway, Lance still doesn't know his surname.
> 
> note: time travel idea visualisation was blatantly copied from Mr Peabody and Sherman


	19. XVI - Destruction

_The loneliest moment in someone's life_

_is when they are watching their whole world fall apart_

_and all they can do is stare blankly._

\--F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

 

\--

**_'GYAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!'_ **

For a twelve mile radius, Lances echoing cry of shock and despair terrified every animal wandering the area.

He shot upright, sweating, a thousand emotions and thoughts fighting for dominance over his body and mind. Inside, he wished he hadn't woke up, for he didn't want to face the painful reality after uncovering his memories.

He felt physically sick, and stress had caused him a whopping headache. His head and heart throbbed, and he had to resist the urge to throw up.

He stood up, throwing open the hubcap of his tank, pushing himself over its edge. For one, the rain had stopped, but Lance was too overwhelmed to think about that.

Suddenly, he retched, and he rolled off over the edge of his tank, and he fell onto the now damp sand, spluttering.

_All this... All this was my fault..._

He turned on his side, sobbing. It all weighed down so heavy on him, it felt like a physical weight, and it was crushing him.

_The whole world... The entire world is my fault..._

'Why me......' He felt so guilty, having known he was the one who caused everyone all this pain, all this suffering, and how he had cost so many their lives. It wasn't entirely his doing, but he had been in a position to prevent it.

However, he hadn't done anything.

He felt like a coward. He hadn't stopped his uncle, and he had just followed, followed, followed...

Through the tears that blurred his vision, he could see that the sky was clearing, but only slightly. Everywhere still smelled of burnt ashes and clotted smog, though fainter than when he had first woken up in the time machine. Through the thick, coagulated smoke, he caught a faint sliver of sky, but it was black, like ink, no brighter than the smoke that covered it. Then, a billow of smoke floated over, blanketing the sky again.

He paused, lying face up on the sand. He felt as if he was sinking into the earth, but physics refused to let him do so, leaving him feeling like a dead weight. On the other hand, his despair felt like a thick tar, rising higher and higher the more he thought, flowing over his face, to the point he was almost drowning.

He felt strangled, crushed, stabbed and tortured by his despair. He was trapped in the dark sea of all his faults, all his wrongs, all his weaknesses. The whirlpool kept pulling him down, blotting out all light and positivity.

_I caused everyone their pain... Their lives... Their families... Even Matt......_

_Matt..._ Suddenly, a faint ray of light shone though the pitch black that surrounded him, and he grasped for it desperately. He wept again, out of relief. Using all the effort he had left, he pushed himself off the ground, into his tank and turned on the ignition. With that, he moved off as swiftly as possible, a new resolve blossoming in him. And this time, he was desperate not to let it die.

_Oh God... Please let Matt be alive... or my guilt will crush me otherwise......_

\--

He carried on for the next three days, never stopping, not even to sleep. He was exhausted, almost to the point where he could look at Death right in the eye. However, Hope was with him, and it kept him alive. It pushed him gently forward, giving him a reason to live.

However, despite all it was going to do now for him, he silently knew Hope would stab him in the back, together with his mind.

 _Since when were death and hope people..._ He chided himself. _I'm seeing things..._

He didn't know it would take so much effort to drive a tank for three days on end, together with pushing away all his churning thoughts. The tank should have been little problem, but his thoughts were so violent, so fervent, demanding his attention, the barrier that he had fixed in his mind to keep them out was weakening every day, and he found he had to physically shove out the more persistent thoughts that eventually found their way in and started to beat him up. Or maybe he was letting them beat him up. Either way, he hated it.

 _Hate._  He was sick of the word, that vulgar, four-lettered disgrace. It was a powerful word, he realised, more powerful than _l_ _oathe_  or even _despise_. Hate was a powerful driving force, compelling people, usually to cause destruction and death in the name of revenge. Hate was a selfish thing, a parasitical feeling that ate its host up from the inside of their mind and eventually destroyed them.

However, Lance refused to let his hate go. If he didn't have hate, he didn't have anything else. Hate was a dangerous ally, and he knew it would soon stab him from behind and get him over and done with if he showed any weakness, but for now, he had Hate in his control, and he used Hate to carry himself. However, day by day, Hate was getting stronger and stronger, and he knew, one day, soon enough, it would completely overpower him.

Inwardly, he groaned again. He was personifying everything, probably because he was so exhausted he was going nuts. However, he enjoyed this game his mind was playing.

With the combined forces of Hope and Hate, he kept going. He ventured on, the loyal Valkyrie crawling across the barren land, the gaping crack separating the two halves of the earth simply another view in the horizon.

\--

The tank rolled over another bump. Lance woke from his half-sleep, coughing into the tanks control panel as the pollution in the air got thicker. Thinking about it, he had no idea how all the fires managed to keep burning and churning out smoke until now, and how they kept on going with no intent on stopping.

 _Just like me maybe..._ He thought despairingly. _They're just finding some reason to stay alive._

As he got up, the tank shook again, rolling over something. Lance fell back, squeaking as he slipped on the ground and landed on his backside. It shook again, and again. It usually didn't happen this often.

He stopped the tank, peering outside as the tank rolled to a gentle halt. Lance's eyes widened dramatically as he came face to face with a wall.

_What?!_

Whipping behind and looking around, it suddenly came clear. The sand valley that surrounded the complex was still there, though much shorter than when he first arrived. The crack in the earth cut right through the building, and as he focused hard on the wall in front of him, a horizontal crack ran faintly though the entire length of the giant cement block. 

He stepped out, his boots landing on damp sand. Quickly putting on his finally dry shirt and fastening the buttons of his coat, he ventured off, gunblade hanging on the belt of his officers jacket.

There was complete silence except for the trudging of his boots as they squashed and left their marks in the wet sand. The whole area was a wreck, but it was obvious: this new icon of destruction was once the infamous Brawl Royale Complex.

Lance was left speechless. What of Matt, if this happened while he was in its custody? The blood drained from his face.

'Matt...?' He rushed into the complex, his boots crunching against the sand as he ran, his footsteps getting quicker as he started to break into a run.

He followed the grave laceration in the ground, panting as he ran. He kept gaining speed as the destroyed shops and bunks rushed past his vision, all empty and smelling faintly of decomposing flesh.

That was when he started to see the people. They lay bleeding, dead, on the ground, and though they were few, Lance couldn't take the sight of them. He had seen enough death, enough destruction. He kept going forward, refusing to see any more of Death's doings. A thought occurred to him that one of those dead corpses could have been Matt, but he pushed the thought away. He did not want to think about it.

He nearly tripped over another dead person until he finally kicked his foot against a block of cement. He flew, the few seconds while he was in the air feeling like forever as he was thrown into a wide, open space. He panted, breathing in wet sand as his hair fell in front of his face.

He slowed his breaths, pushing himself to his feet as he brushed off the sand and dirt. As he staggered up on his two feet, he was left almost speechless. He stood in the edge of the arena, where Matt and many other warriors fought for their lives for the entertainment of others.

He looked around. Even though it was destroyed, he could sense how evil this place was, how selfish humans had created this place for money at the expense of others lives. It was so heartless, so cruel, to force others to spend their lives for their own sadistic desires. Thinking of how Matt had been chained here in a fight for survival, and how he most probably lost that battle, Lance wanted to cry. However, his shock would not let him do that as he stood there, a stone cold look plastering itself on his face.

He was at the brink of his sanity. If Hope left him and broke his soul any more, he would fall over the edge, losing himself in the deep, dark underworld of insane hate that he had created for himself. He would join his late father in his half witted mind, not able to appreciate anything but despair. He could feel himself slip at the edge of sanity's cliff, by which he now held on with only his fingertips. Only Matt could save him now - he was the only thing he had since his existence in this current world started.

Slowly, he took a step forward. If the Brawl Royale people had not captured him, or if they insisted he could still fight, he would have stood here, fighting for his life, leaving behind him a pile of corpses and carcasses as he fought his way to survive. The crack ran though the exact centre of the arena, and whatever happened here, Lance had no idea. Whatever it was, he knew it was no good.

He stopped at the edge of the crack. It was strange, how both the grounds of the earth here were only about five centimetres away, while in other places it was nearly half a kilometre apart. It was one thing he would never understand.

However, soon, he would not have the mind to think about it for a long while more.

He looked around him, imagining how it would have been if he were standing here, holding his gunblade, fighting a stranger he had never met before while people watched and cheered like mad dogs drunk on violence. What he didn't know was, this was the exact place where Matt had stood as he split the earth, where he had sliced his final foe into two, exact separate pieces. This was where he stood as he watched the crowd flee with eyes as cold and as blue as frozen glaciers.

It took him some time to process everything. Maybe Matt was still somewhere, or he had fled and forgotten about him. The second option was more likely, as he thought about it. However, he refused to give up hope. He turned away, trying to remember where he had first woken up when Matt found him.

He ran out through the other exit of the arena, finding himself in the training area. This was where Matt first started to train him, where Lance learnt that being alert and quick-witted on the battlefield was the first step to winning. It was darker and messier than what he remembered, but still recognisable.

He kept moving forward. Along the way, he passed by the sick bay, where he had first woken up and spoke with Matt. Where he had received his first proper meal. 

He vaguely remembered where Matt had trained him on his fighting and taught him how to use his gunblade to his advantage, but vague was better than nothing. He followed where his mind led him, and though he ran around in circles a bit, he eventually reached there.

The space was the same, largely untouched, with the same empty oil barrels strewn here and there. He found the same oil barrel, its faded blue paint peeling to reveal the rusted metal beneath.

_The pathway... The door...!_

His heart raced, anticipation coursing through his veins. If he could find where they had dragged Matt off, he could get all his answers. He could even find Matt if he was still there, somewhere... 

He rushed to the same corner of the room Matt had taken him to. He grabbed the handle again, yanking it open as the door let out a deafening groan in protest. He didn't worry about noise anymore: he was not running from anyone anymore; he was scavenging the ruins of the new Colosseum.

_Colosseum... Whats that...?_

However, he did not have time for that now. He pushed that thought away. Before him gaped the same pathway, dusted, dark, musty and strung with cobwebs. The lightbulbs had gone out, causing it to look like a depressing pathway to hell.

Knowing he would have to run down the grimy passage for nearly 10 minutes, Lance felt a chill go down his spine. However, he wanted answers, and 10 minutes in hell was worth it if he were to be reunited with Matt eventually. He took a deep breath, and rushed in.

It was literally a pathway to hell. It was blacker than tar, and to describe it as pitch black was a gross understatement. He ran his hand along the sides of the passageway to guide him as he had done before, feeling the grime and dirt collect on his hands. He was disgusted, but he was determined to keep going.

Eventually, the passage got brighter, and light shone through a slightly agape door. He didn't stop running, and he fell as he burst out of the passageway, the doors hinges giving way as his hand made contact. He coughed as the dust floated up around him, the brightness of the dim light blinding him as his eyes struggled to adjust.

He got up, looking around him. This was the room where he and Matt were separated. It was small, a door leading outside, and another door opposite it where Matt had been taken.

He stood facing the same door, the one that held all his answers. He paused. Did he really want to know? What if the answer stabbed him? What if he found Matt dead and bloodied when he stepped into the room? What if the Brawl Royale people already turned him into a monster while he had left?

 _No._ He cast all other thoughts aside. _I finally made it here. I can't just give up when the answer is only a door away._

Lance took a breath. He braced himself, trying not to overwhelm his mind with his self-created hurricane of thoughts. He placed a hand on the handle, turning it. It opened easily, swinging open smoothly to reveal a pure, white room.

Lance walked in, each step taken with caution and hesitation. He smelt rotting meat as he walked in further, and he choked down a gag. Lab apparatus was strewn everywhere, broken glass, crystals and chemicals scattered on the ground. Cupboard doors had been shaken off their hinges, revealing more spilled chemicals, glass and general destruction.

As Lance's eyes focused in the darkness, he caught a faint blue glow at the end of the room. Curiosity got the better of him, and he moved towards the glow. Glass clinked as he strode across the remains of the lab, the smell of rotting corpses getting stronger and then fainter as he reached the end.

When he found the source of the glow, he saw the same faint cyan light creeping out from behind a slightly ajar cupboard door. He opened it slowly. Suddenly, a closed test tube rolled out, and Lance jumped back as it hit the floor and shattered. The chemical spilled glowed a bright blue, lighting up the room slightly.

He found that all of the test tubes were full except for one. Taking up the empty one, he read the label, attached to the cork sealing it. Written over the chemical's information in thick black marker was a single name.

 

**MATT**

 

Lance dropped the test tube, the ring of breaking glass echoing through the lab again. He grabbed another tubeful of the chemical, using its luminosity to read the label attached.

 

_**HIELIOTHM** //EXPERIMENTAL DRUG//_

_// **POISON** //_

_**SEVERELY TOXIC** // **May lead to death** //_

_**DRUG EFFECTS UPON INGESTION** //Brain damage//Eventual memory loss//Insanity//Depression//60% CHANCE OF DEATH//_

_**ILLEGAL BIOTOXIN** //if in possession, avoid authorities as much as possible_

 

 _They fed this to him...?!_ Lance held the glowing liquid, trembling. However, he stubbornly refused to let go of his hope.

_It only may cause death... Right? He might still be alive..._

Lance looked down at the glowing poison he held in his hands. _I could use this as a torch._

Bending down, he picked up the label from the shattered empty test tube. Holding Matt's name in his hands, he ventured on. He walked around the lab, the toxin casting a faint blue light upon the benches, flasks and Bunsen burners. Further down, he spotted a door. He turned the metal knob, and the door opened into a long corridor.

Lance sighed. He was sick of all this mystery, and he wanted answers. Now. He didn't want to have to search through another endless stretch of rooms.

Lance gripped the test tube tightly in his hand. He was already halfway there - he simply had to be patient. Matt's name in bold screamed out to him, and he knew, he knew he had to save him.

There was no other way - whatever happened to Matt, Lance simply _had_ to know.


	20. XVII - Forsaken

_You think, 'Okay, I get it,_

_I'm prepared for the worst,'_

_But you hold out that small hope, see,_

_and that's what fucks you up._

_That's what kills you._

\--Stephen King 

 

\--

He was sick of it. He was sick of everything.

He didn't understand why a simple gladiator arena would have to have so many rooms, most of which seemed useless. So far, he had found nothing of value.

He was halfway through the corridor, and the smell of rotting meat was becoming more evident as he walked along. He wondered what it was, and his curiosity and disgust were fighting each other in his mind. He wanted to look and find the cause of it, or else for information, but the other half of him decided that something utterly disgusting was causing the smell and it was better for him to leave it out and not get his mind scarred.

The corridor was scrappy, all four of its walls made of rotting rood planks haphazardly nailed together in roughly straight lines, with even more planks nailed in a randomised, zig-zagged manner in an attempt to hold the structure together. There was still the smell of rot, and Lance wondered where it came from. Fortunately for Lance, the lights in this area had somehow survived, so he had put the tube of chemical in the belt of his jacket and proceeded his search.

So far in most of the rooms he found nothing but bunk beds and torn out drawers, some with a few pieces of yellowed paper with faded typing strewn across the floor. There was nothing much of importance, and the same had been happening for the past hour: stepping into a room, finding a bed and a chest of drawers, checking the papers and inside the drawer, finding nothing worth reading, stepping out irritated, stepping into another room, and the cycle repeated itself.

Lance was exhausted. He noticed he was always exhausted, always sick of everything, always hating everything. Looking at the beds in each room, he almost wanted to curl up and sleep, maybe sleep until he woke up an old man with probably only a day or two left to live. Sleeping seemed a great option. However, he was so close to the answer, he simply couldn't make himself give up.

He kept going. He lost count of the number of rooms he had searched. Finally, as he stood in front of a wooden, gold-gilded door, he stopped.

He could sense that this room was different, and that it once housed someone of high importance. Once. The smell of rotting meat was the strongest he had ever smelled and he stood near motionless in front of the door. A plaque was nailed to the door, but it was rusted to the point the only letter he could make out was a 'P'.

He observed the door, running a hand over its rough surface. Something felt wrong about it, as if the wood had rotted, or had been hollowed out. He grabbed the handle, turning the door open, but the entire door fell forward, and Lance jumped back as the corner of the door shattered into wooden shards, the resulting explosion of noise echoing through the entire arena.

As he cautiously stepped in, a thick, pungent smell blasted him in his face. He took up the corner of his jacket to cover his nose and mouth as he walked through the doorway, and he nearly threw up as he caught a dead body, halfway rotted, through the corner of his eye.

However, he stopped.

This person was familiar.

Lance turned to face the dead body. It was a woman. _That_  woman.

_'You coward! Who said you could run from Brawl Royale?!'_

Lance pressed a hand against his forehead as the memories came. He remembered Matt's terrified face, the devastation, the pain.

_'Who's that scrawny kid there? Don't tell me he persuaded you to escape!'_

And he never forgot that terrible insult.

She had a knife stuck in her heart, or whatever was left of it. She was faced down, her arms below her. A few gold coins were strewn around her side, stained with her blood.

Lance turned back to face the door. Observing the pieces, he realised it was hollow. Thinking about it, the woman had probably hidden her money inside the door and got mugged and murdered just as she was about to escape.

'One of the Heads of Brawl Royale, huh.' Lance muttered condescendingly. He stepped on her side, eyeing her with scorn. He glared at her with all his hate, cursing her dead body for all his misfortune.

Suddenly, a shade of cardboard brown caught his eye. The dead woman was holding an envelope, hugging it limply against her chest. Lance could make out a faint, red ink stamp diagonally across it.

Lance kicked the dead woman over, the thick envelope falling out of her arms. It was thick, with a giant red stamp 'CONFIDENTIAL' across it. He reached out, grabbing it between his fingertips and avoiding all the rotting biohazards. Carefully, he undid the envelope, and he pulled out a paper file, made of the same material as the envelope.

Lance dropped the envelope to the side, holding the file in his hands. This was his answer. This was all he needed. He ran a thumb over the label.

 

**ENLISITED FOR BRAWL ROYALE TOURNAMENT**

**Information of Selected Fighters**

 

Lances hands shook as he ran his fingers over the alphabetical labels. Everything he needed was in this file. However, he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.

Matt could be alive, he could be dead, he could be somewhere around the earth, anything could have happened to him after the earthquake.

 _No. I_ have _to know._

Lance opened the file, flipping to the section **_M_**. Matt's name was the first to appear. He trembled as his eyes scanned over a faded picture of a younger Matt, probably taken quite some time ago, and he began to read the typed ink in silence.

 

//[typed two weeks before the reannounced tournament day]

**MATTHEW ROSZAK**

 

 **Class:** 1 - valued asset

 **Age:** 13

 **Date of Birth:** 3 July

 **Height:** 168 cm

 **Health defects:** none

 **Allergies:** none

 **Health Stability:** not guaranteed

 **Mental Stability:** not guaranteed

 **Notes:** was fed Experimental drug -- life expectancy 72 hours//

 

Lance froze as he reread the Notes section.

**_life expectancy 72 hours_ **

_...He's dead._

The thought pierced through his mind like a knife laced with neurotoxins, stealing away his hearing and his sense of touch. Time seemed to slow as he dropped the file. Despair and guilt sliced through him like a poisoned needle, spreading throughout his body like gangrene.

_No. Please... No..._

Lance choked down a sob. He burst out of the room, and he started running. He had no intentions of stopping. He wanted to run forever, to run until his legs broke, to run until he had left his mind behind somewhere, to run until he died from exhaustion.

_Why am I always too late..._

His surroundings blurred past him, the hallways, bunk beds, food and merchandise stalls blending their colours together in a myriad of dark colours and smudges as he found a way out of the corridor. Lance could hear nothing but his soft, muffled footsteps and the continuous high-pitched ring in his ears.

Suddenly, the space opened up. Just as he realised he was in the arena, he tripped and flew. For a few seconds he remained frozen in mid air, everything around him seeming to stop as he flew, until all his pain and despair knocked him back down to the ground. He slid lightly across the wet sand, his hand coming in contact with a puddle. Lance inched himself forward, catching a glimpse of himself in the puddles reflection.

Lance didn't know what to say about himself.

As compared to the last time he had seen himself, it was as if he had aged ten years or more, and it was as if his torn soul and shattered heart were displayed plainly for all to see. Never had he seen anyone so devastated before, not even in his lost memories. However, he was exactly as he looked; a man who had lost all hope, and now played slave to hate and despair, except that he was but a young boy. His hair had grown, and his lost eye had a few streaks of dried blood emerging from under his eyepatch. His other eye brimmed with tears, the auburn-red of his irises sparkling faintly in the dim light.

Lance picked himself up, sobbing. All his efforts were for nothing, and he was at least eleven days too late. Again, it was his fault that Matt lost another important battle - the first being the battle for their escape, and this time the battle for his life. He felt hopeless, disappointed in himself, and his failures seemed to swirl around him like a black fog that only he could see, and could not find his way out of.

As he thought about it, no normal person at his age and Matt's age would have to suffer like this. Lance, who supposed he was around 13 like Matt, had lost an eye due to a gunshot, murdered two people including his dad, lost all his memories and his family, made the world as it was now and was fighting for his life every single day. Same went for Matt - who his age would be put in a gladiator arena, forced to kill for a living, enlisted and forced to join the most dangerous tournament in history which had a ninety-eight percent chance of certain death, been fed a poisonous drug and left to die in pain for 3 days?

Lance laughed humourlessly. All this, all of it was insane.

He stumbled over to the edge of the earths laceration, and begin to cry. The remains of his crushed hope burned through him as it bled, its blood like an acid through his veins.

'Why... Why must everything be taken from me...'

His questions travelled through the air, dispersing, never to be answered. He felt his life cave in on him, his insanity starting to break through the cage that had now weakened and was beginning to tear.

'Why... Just Why...'

Each time he questioned, his voice got louder. The third time, he picked up a rock from a large concrete block nearby, and he flung it as far as he could. It sailed over the crack, over the top of the arena before disappearing. He silently registered how much stronger he had become over time.

**'WHY!! TELL ME WHY!!! WHY ME OF ALL PEOPLE?!!! WHYYYY!!!!'**

He dropped to the ground, the tears falling in a constant stream from his eye.

However, he never knew.

He never knew that Matt was safe, though not exactly sound, alive and well, with a trustworthy companion at his side to protect him. The place where Lance stood, was exactly the place where Matt stood as he watched the crowd run in fear from him after he slaughtered the beast. The place where Lance found the rock, was the concrete block where Matt and Natalie sat, discussing what to do as the food ran out. The puddle where Lance had observed his despaired reflection in, was where Matt had left his message, washed away by the rain.

And he would not know for a long time.

Lance cried out, his screams echoing across the valley. It was a despairing scene as his heartbroken cries turned into screams of anger and hate, his sorrow and pain morphing into insanity as it took over him like a cancer in its final stage.

\--


	21. XVIII - Lance

_He had started with a good cause._

_But then again,_

_Everyone has their breaking point._

\--Anonymous

 

\-- 2 years later --

'So... Who are we after this time?'

Matt whipped around to face Natalie, his hair falling over his shoulder as he walked backwards without slowing. 'Whoever's causing this mess! It's _abit_ obvious?' 

Natalie fought down an irritated sigh. How do you even know its a _who_  anyway?'

'You implied it, so I just assumed it was.'

Natalie didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Matt whipped around again, his hair shimmering as it flew. The gold on his sword, which he slung on his back, had no difference in colour with his hair.

Natalie didn't understand why, but she envied Matt's hair. It was stupid, but she found his hair nearly four times nicer than hers. It was almost amazing that his hair didn't inhibit him while he fought, though it flowed everywhere, shining in the dim sunlight.

Natalie took up a lock of her hair. It was a little dry, and was a carroty orange. It didn't shine like Matt's - his hair was literally like liquid gold.

She sighed. Natalie didn't like her life. It all seemed like a game, a game that she was forever trapped in. There were always restrictions, and even though she didn't know it, she was automatically following the rules, whatever they were. Everything was too perfect - things always happened a certain way or another, and there was no explanation that Natalie could come up with to help herself understand everything. Stuff simply happened, as if everything was laid out and planned, and Natalie had no way to go other than the path planned for her. 

It was all a game. A game she could not outsmart, a game that controlled her life, a game that she was forever trapped in together with Matt.

 _Matt_. At least she had him. If she had to go out on her own, she would have long lost her mind.

She still remembered the boy Matt told her about. She wondered how he managed to survive so long before finding Matt in Brawl Royale, and most of all, she wondered if he was still alive. It was unlikely, but he might have had a chance, seeing he could deal with more than a week alone and wandering around in the heart of destruction.

Natalie looked back up as she began to smell smoke and pollution. The sky, which was once blue, had started to get clotted with smoke like clouds in the air, and further down, she could see the smoke clogging together, blotting out the sun. The forest was far behind, and as she walked, the soil got drier, and eventually the ground below turned to sand.

This next enemy would be their final fight for a long time. It was probably another robot, seeing the places it had targeted had bullet shells and shrapnel left behind. Tracks could also be found, and it looked like those from a huge car or something of the like.

However, that was not what worried Natalie.

'Matt... Don't you... recognise this place?'

Matt slowed. He stopped, observing his surroundings. A serious look flashed itself upon his face.

'Yeah... Brawl Royale... Right?'

Natalie stopped beside Matt. A silence passed between the two of them as memories from two years ago flashed through their minds eye.

'Maybe he survived.'

Matt kept staring ahead. 'Who?'

Natalie dug through her brain, trying to find the boy's name. 'Was it... Levi, or Luke or something? I know it starts with an L.'

Matt frowned. 'Honestly, I don't remember.'

Natalie sighed. _Of course... The poison.._.

Over the two years, Matt had lost most of his memories. The only people he remembered were his brother, Natalie, and _a_ _nother boy_. He had lost almost all memory of Levi or whoever it was, except for the fact he existed. She couldn't blame him - even she couldn't remember anything about him except the first alphabet of his name.

However, as she thought about it, the possibilities were high. He could be residing in the remains of Brawl Royale, angry at Matt for leaving him behind, or else something worse. If it was him, that would explain the bullets left behind at the sites he raided and decimated. She did remember Matt saying that he had a gunblade or something when she asked how he would fend for himself. However, the shrapnel and bombshells at the destroyed sites were still unexplained. 

Natalie sighed. Somehow, she knew that Matt would eventually have to fight his old friend. She didn't want to tell Matt, for she was afraid it would only make it harder for him. If his friend was on a rampage and destroying the world, and if he could not be convinced to stop, they would have to kill him. There would be no other way: they couldn't take him hostage - he would be too powerful for them, from the looks of things; they hardly had enough supplies to keep themselves alive, and she didn't even know if he could be restrained. If they left him there after a warning, he would stay dormant for a while before starting his raids again, even more powerful than the last time. She couldn't think of any other way that would keep him alive and keep the world safe.

Matt sighed, interrupting her thoughts. 'Let's go - we can't wait here forever. We have to go eventually.'

Natalie sensed that Matt knew something was amiss. He was more serious than normal, and usually he wasn't this stoic. 

Natalie had no idea how Matt could always stay so happy. Probably because of the drug or whatever they had fed him, but he almost always had a smile on his face. In Brawl Royale, Natalie thought of him as scary, full of hurts and pains and everything negative. However, as the days passed, he had left all those behind, and he became the Matt she knew now: happy, optimistic,  _rather_ honourable, enjoying whatever he did, maybe a little trigger-happy and stupid but always protecting her as she returned the favour whenever she could. Matt was beautiful - his personality, his looks, those eyes-

_No. No. No, not now, nope._

She sighed. She knew she was slowly falling for him. However, she had no idea if Matt had any intentions of having a relationship in his life. To him, Natalie would forever be 'more than a friend', in other words, his teammate. It could never be better than that.

_Well. At least I have him._

Natalie looked back up. Matt was already ahead, his hair gently billowing in the wind, and Natalie ran to catch up. There was one thing they both knew in common: they would have to return to the home of their nightmares.

In other words, Brawl Royale.

\--

They soon found the crack in the earth.

There was no possible explanation as to how the earth managed to pull its two separated halves back together, sealing it tightly without trace except for the scar of the never ending laceration on its surface which ran through it's entire longitude. The sky was dark now, completely covered with smoke, and the crack led straight towards a red glow in the distance. They could make out the faint ruins of Brawl Royale, the sand valley having shrunk as the piles of sand fell into the crack and into the unknown. They were close. It would be soon.

They walked in silence, wondering of what would happen once they stepped in. Most of the possibilities were made of disasters, death, and destruction. There was only one good possibility, where Luke or Levi or whoever was actually in the building and found that Matt had somehow survived, and was so happy they just simply got back together. However, they knew it was never going to happen. It could never happen. In one way or another, everyone in this world was broken - happy endings were things that had to be fought for, and they would never _just_  happen.

As the ruins of Brawl Royale in the distance grew larger, Natalie was snapped out of her thoughts as she walked past a partially rusted sign. As she turned back to face the front, she noticed another rectangular sign to her left, but they had gone past before she could read it. As she scanned the scenery, the whole horizon was pockmarked with signs, all rusted in places, all of different shapes and sizes, with all sorts of different symbols and wordings, but they all meant the same thing. Natalie focused on the signs as they walked past them.

 

**_GOVERNMENT AREA - KEEP OUT_ **

**_WARNING: MILITARY AREA - UNAUTHORISED PEOPLE WILL BE SHOT ON SIGHT_ **

**_DANGER - HIGH LEVELS OF RADIATION MAY CAUSE DEATH_ **

 

The third even had a skull on it.

Natalie began to feel uneasy. Something told them that anybody's presence was completely unwanted here.

Even that of an old friend.

'Matt... Should we just leave?'

'No.' The reply was immediate, as if he expected her to say it. 'If he's going to harm people, whether he's evil or not, we're gonna have to stop him.'

Natalie sighed as they kept walking. Soon, barbed wire started to appear. It lay in coiled pieces, strewn everywhere, as if its purpose was more for striking fear than for defence. The signs got more frequent, and the soft sounds of boots crunching against sand were all they could hear. They both prepared themselves for the worst. It was all they could do.

Soon, the sand became concrete, and the area became brighter. They stood at the entrance of the ruins of Brawl Royale. It was a foreboding, depressing sight. Where the sign of Brawl Royale was once perched was now a flag hung on a long metal rod. It was a blood red, a circle of white in its centre and a black swastika residing in the circle, its centre shared with that of the white circle and it's corners almost spanning the circle's entire diameter. They stopped below the flag, which hung like a hanged man from its pole.

Natalie sighed. 'Whatever did he do to this place...'

'Who?'

Matt had heard her. Natalie tried to conjure up a quick reply. 'Whoever our enemy is.'

Matt continued to question. 'But who? You say it as if you know him.'

 _I don't, Matt._ You _do_.

Not knowing what to say, she kept silent, and continued walking. Matt only raised an eyebrow and followed without another word. He probably knew something was very wrong, though he knew not exactly what.

As they passed inside, they realised where the red glow came from. Luke, or whatever his name was, had disassembled dozens of nuclear bombs, somehow managing to place their radioactive counterparts inside glass tubes and make them into light sources before placing them back inside their bombshells. 

_Shouldn't he have died of exposure already?_

'I don't like the look of this place...' Matt's voice was half as loud as it usually was, and Natalie saw as his blue eyes darted around, scanning the area for sudden threats, his expression more than serious. She hadn't seen Matt this scared or fearful, not for a long time. If he was scared, it meant what came next was never good, and could probably cost them both their lives.

And he was never wrong.

As they kept going, a fog that came from nowhere began to get thicker as they reached the centre of Brawl Royale. Natalie could hardly see anything further than three metres. Matt scanned the surroundings as Natalie held his arm unconsciously. Suddenly, he pointed at a silhouette.

'Hey, what's with the fancy car?'

Natalie turned to the direction he was pointing. However, as she focused, it was far from a fancy car. It was a huge tank, it's gears creaking as it moved towards them. She could see the silhouette darkening, and she could hear it as it rolled closer. Suddenly, a third voice rang out from the tank's direction.

'Get out of the way, nooblets, this area's been quarantined.'

Matt frowned mildly at the sound of the voice. It sounded like a boy, around their age, except the way he spoke was like that of a serial murderer, unforgiving, merciless, full of hurts and pains. As the tank rolled out of the smoke, Natalie gasped as the boy Matt kept describing to her two years ago appeared right in front of her eyes. He looked the same age as Matt, his gunblade pointing right between her eyes. His red-auburn hair was layered, the longest strands shoulder-length, mostly covered by an officers hat. An eye patch covered the left side of his face, and his other eye, a deep, red-auburn, the same colour as his hair, seemed to glow with madness as he glared at them with a look that could freeze fire. There was no way Natalie could not recognise him.

 _Lance_.

'Well, your lives are forfeit either way now that you've seen me.' The boy loaded his gunblade with a click. 'The Earth must be purged of all infidels.'


	22. IXX - Demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha ha hah two lunatics fighting for/against the end of the word Ones a poisoned amnesiac with ADHD and the other a crazy terrorist who used to be an amnesiac A ha ha ha ha hA whAt Am i dOing with my lIfE

 

_Fear is the path to the dark side._

_Fear leads to anger,_

_Anger leads to hate,_

_Hate leads to suffering._

\-- George Walton Lucas Jr., _The Phantom Menace_

\--

Lance could not bring himself to fire the gunblade.

Through the cloud of his insanity, the Aryan boy's face tugged on a memory as he looked into the deep cerulean blue of his eyes while the boy stared into his. His hair was much longer than the last time he saw him, reaching down to his waist and flowing gently in the slight breeze, standing a little taller than the boy he saw in his memories, his presence like that of some angel descended from heaven. However, he would never forget the boys face as his azure eyes, filled with confusion, stared into Lance's. His eyes spoke through Lance's insanity, and managed to reach the place in his mind where lunacy had held him hostage.

_Matt... How..._

Ever since Matt's supposed death, madness had taken over him like a flood. At first, he tried to make use of it, his hate, his anger, his loneliness, to try and gain power. However, it was his lunacy controlling him. It was like a making a contract with the devil - he would never win, and he was never in control in the first place. It had him chained inside now, his insanity continuing to grow and control him like a demon. It crushed him, but he kept fighting back, not wanting to lose himself. His father, who once wore Lance's jacket on his back, had fought hard, hard enough to call him his son a final time. For twenty months, Lance fought, until today. Today, he had hope.

_Matt... Please... Tell me you recognise me... Please, save me..._

It was terrible, being trapped inside his own body, doing things he never wanted to do, killing people he never wanted to kill. Perhaps, Matt could finally save him.

Or maybe not.

Matt faced Lance, lost, with a hint of partial recognition. As Lance studied him, his fringe too had grown longer, and was now parted to the side a bit off from the centre. He looked fairly well off, and the same, beautiful sword he used two years ago was still strapped to his back, the gold on its handle shining as brightly as when he first saw it. Although Lance remembered everything, Matt had no idea.

'Huh, have we met before? So what's your plan now - just trying to kill everything?'

There was a girl at Matt's side. She grabbed his arm, and she looked as if she was about to hit him and cry. On the inside, Lance could feel her. She kept looking between him and Matt, and from reading her mouth, he could tell she was repeating the same thing over and over again: 'Matt-Matt-Matt-Don't-Don't-Please-No-Please-Stop-No-...' She was frantic, as if she knew something, and was trying to prevent Matt from causing something drastic. However, her actions were futile, as the lunatic demon inside him gained control again.

He lowered his gunblade as he began to speak. 'It sickens me to see things the way they are now. Only by destroying everything can the world be rebuilt.' Lance raised his gunblade, aiming again, this time straight between Matt's eyes. Inside, his self-consciousness screamed at his body, fearing that he would have to see his friend die again, as if seeing him die once was not enough.

Matt drew his sword, while the girl turned to face Lance with tears in her eyes. It was as if she could see him, still there, still alive, through all the clouds of madness and lunacy. They cried out only one thing: _Please... No..._

'I don't like that sort of thing, bro,' With a swift movement, Matt unslung his huge sword from his back as he gently pushed the girl away so she wouldn't get cut, swinging it to the front with ease like the skilled swordsman he was, holding it out towards Lance. Its silver blade shimmered in the dim light. 'We're gonna have to smash up your tank.'

The girl let go of Matt, cupping her face in a soft, short sob. Lance felt her as his lunacy lit a fire in his heart. It was too late now, for him or for Matt and the girl, he didn't know.

Lance didn't say another word to him. He looked straight ahead, lowering his voice to just slightly louder than a whisper before speaking to his upgraded tank.

'Valkyrie, go on autopilot.'

' **input mode** '

A dark grin crept its way up Lance's face. He dragged out the words as he said them.

'Complete, annihilation.'

\--

Inside, Lance was laughing.

It was hilarious.

Two crazy people fighting each other.

Both of them possibly two of the most powerful people on the planet.

One a guy with memory loss and maybe minor mental instability, the other a possessed, mental, cold-blooded murderer.

And the future of the world depended on them.

It was insane.

Lance laughed again to himself, this time without humour. It was sad that these two lunatics were once good friends, separated and cursed by misfortune.

The girl, Natalie, from what he heard, followed Matt as he fought, their plans and attacks in perfect sync with one another. He wondered how long they had fought and trained together, them being at the point where they could read each others minds, their attacks in perfect harmony.

Lance, or else his uncontrolled self, loaded his gunblade, shooting twice and sending a bullet each in Matt's and Natalie's direction. He missed, again, his arm having been hurt from various attacks already. He was glad - his conscious self was trying his best not to hurt them, Matt in particular, and his injured arm was in his favour. Matt seemed to look perpetually unfocused, as if he was in deep thought about something serious.

Suddenly, an alarm started to sound in the tank's cockpit. Lance dived down into his tank, closely missing a small bomb that would have hit his face, thrown by Natalie. The display screens around the tank's inside flashed red. He hollered down into his tank, irritated.

'What's it _now_?!'

The tank replied in its monotonous voice. 'Self repair system damaged... Self repair system damaged...'

Lance sighed, emerging from his tank again. The self repair system he had tried to input into Valkyrie didn't work at all anyway, so he had little reason to worry.

'Valkyrie, ignore damage.'

Lance didn't understand how and why he fought so hard. His possessed self fought like a barbarian, never giving up, each gunshot spraying shards of violence and fear in every direction. He would never relent, no matter how weak, injured or tired he was. He had a bleeding gash across his chest, somehow inflicted by Natalie when she caused some glowing star to fall on him. He was still confused by the term 'mages'. He remembered Matt mentioning it to him, a long time ago, when Brawl Royale stood tall, mighty and feared.

 _'Mages?'_ He recalled himself asking Matt.

He remembered Matt sighing exasperatedly. _'You've never heard of magic, have you?'_

_'No.'_

But that was long ago. Times had changed.

Silently, his subconscious self observed Matt intently as he fought, each swing distracted by some troubling thought in his head.

Lance himself thought hard and deep, trying to read his lost friend's mind.

\--

He had seen this boy somewhere.

He just didn't know when or where.

He knew his auburn, crimson hair, and his burning, piercing cold eyes. He had seen them somewhere, and he had known them before.

His gaze wasn't always like this. Neither did he have his eyepatch before. His eyes once used to be warm, full of appreciation and hope.

This boy was a tough, trained fighter, with quick reflexes and reactions. However, his tactics weren't very commendable - his style was basically _kill-kill-kill-everything-in-sight As-long-as-you-hit-it-and-it-dies-good-on-you._

But what made him scary was the fact that he fought like a demon. He hardly flinched whenever he was hit, apart from the few grunts and curses he threw when he got hurt pretty badly, and the blood streaked down his black army uniform. There was blood on his hands, a streak down the side of his face, and smeared over the handle of his gunblade. Although he did leave most of the fighting to his tank and the automated lazer turret beside him, he was scary - six shots from his gunblade could almost kill both of them, as he inferred when three consecutive shots hit Natalie and she fell.

 _Gunblade._ He'd heard that term somewhere. Honestly, he knew he once knew this boy by name, trusted him, befriended him, planned an escape with him...

_Escape? Where did that come from?_

'MAAATTTT!!!'

Natalie's scream snapped him out of his thoughts. However, as he turned, a piercing pain ripped through his shoulder as a stray bullet flew through him, the pain spreading like an acid through his nerves. He screamed and fell, hitting his head hard against the ground. The sounds of Lance's blurred tank and Natalie's muffled cry were the last he heard before darkness pulled him out of his consciousness.

\--

_Am I... dead?_

Matt felt himself floating. His consciousness, which lay somewhere out there, told him that he was almost gone, and he had suffered a concussion. He was alive, but on the edge of heaven and hell.

He wondered who that boy really was. How he could become so powerful to the point he could kill the two of them so easily, how he lost almost all feeling and emotion and even built a whole metal army with its only purpose being to destroy the world. He wondered why he recognised him, even how he ever so vaguely appeared in his memories.

 _Who?_ Who _is he???_

As soon as he asked himself that question, he felt himself falling.

Falling within his own lost memories.

\--

Lance was frozen.

_Did... I... kill him......?_

He froze, lowering his gunblade ever so slightly as he eyed Matt, his body sprawled on the floor. When he realised Natalie's revive spell didn't work on him this time, he got worried. Afraid.

It was in that moment of shock that he threw his demons down to the ground with a powerful blow. In fear and agony, he forced himself awake, seizing control of himself again. He could not afford to see Matt die a second time. Lance put down his arms, slamming his gunblade onto his tank, the resulting clang echoing through the ruins of Brawl Royale as the battlefield came to a complete standstill. Natalie stared at Lance in confusion, then at Matt, before looking back at Lance.

That was when the pain started to drip in. Slowly, he felt his wounds start to burn, and he knew he could not put up with it for long. His breaths got louder as the pain registered, and he heaved as he clutched a wound on his side. Eventually his insanity would return to numb the pain. The physical pain, and the emotional pain.

'Natalie...... Get... Matt... Away...'

His voice trembled. From fear, pain, frustration, or a maybe even a combination of all three. Natalie stood there frozen. Lance flared at her stupidity.

'Just... GET HIM AWAY......' His voice broke. 'I...I don't want to kill you......'

Lance ! felt tears burn the back of his eyes, and felt a single tear make its way down his cheek as his voice broke into a sob. Lance's shoulder throbbed, where Matt had somehow miraculously sliced him despite how high up he was in his tank. He clutched his shoulder, the blood squeezing between his fingers and running in small rivers across them as it escaped his body.

'Please... Please go......'

His voice had reduced to a beg. Somehow, he reminded himself of his late father while he was at his last moments. How he begged, sadly, for Lance to end his misery. Now, he was begging for Matt to be saved from him.

And he wasn't sure if he would last long enough to have his request granted.

A dangerous anger began to seep back into him, rekindling the fire in his eyes. He slammed the top of his tank with his gunblade again, harder, as Natalie stood frozen in confusion.

 _Why is she not_ moving _?!_

'GET HIM THE HELL AWAY FROM ME BEFORE I KILL HIM!!!' His eyes flared as he watched a shocked Natalie begin to understand, and he could feel the tears accumulating in his eyes as she tried to drag Matt away as fast as she could. He could see, Matt was still breathing - just unconscious.

And, he realised, it would be a problem if he could not wake up in time.

\--

He heard Lance's scream pierce through his unconsciousness.

_GET HIM THE HELL AWAY FROM ME BEFORE I KILL HIM!!!_

Then why was he killing them just five seconds ago?

_It's strange..._

He kept falling, until he was jolted into a memory.

This memory, in particular, would be the answer to all his current questions.

\--

_Don't get angry. Please don't get angry..._

The madder Lance got, the closer he was to going insane again. He didn't want to end up like his father - getting killed by someone he cared for because they were forced to act out of self-defense.

Lance sank back down into his tank. He felt battered, not just physically. He tried to hold back the growing waves of anger his insanity had sent to overpower him.

He began to think. He was careful in his thoughts as he proceeded.

_So Matt hadn't died in Brawl Royale after all... And I got myself worked up for no reason..._

He realised what a great mess he had made himself into: a lunatic claiming to purge the world of all human impurity and evil, when in fact _he_ himself was the great evil. Matt was the one cleaning up after him, for all that time.

He had heard of some great monsters getting killed. As he rotted away in Brawl Royale, fixing and upgrading his tank and building all sorts of killing machines, news of great beasts suddenly disappearing, only to have their rotting remains discovered somewhere else, reached him eventually as he went on his solo raids. As he researched, he realised that as the beasts or madmen were killed, their location of slaughter was getting closer and closer to him. He had assumed that he would soon be the next target, so he had stopped all raids and made for home, stocking up all his nuclear bombs, rockets and guns, upgrading his tank and upgrading the Ion Cannon through the net.

_Oh. That._

He shouldn't have thought about it. Now that he remembered, his rogue self would probably use it on Matt and Natalie. He slapped himself mentally.

_Great._

He had decided to test it after he returned from the army base after restocking his weapons, and it had blasted the hell out of one quarter of Brawl Royale when he accidentally messed with it, explaining why some parts of it were still on fire. He was lucky it stopped firing after a while, since he had drained its power and now needed it to charge again. If it hadn't stopped, he would have razed the entire Brawl Royale complex to the ground. It would be some time before he could use it, judging from the time it took to charge. Thinking about it, the Cannon probably belonged to some powerful country before whatever happened when he woke up in this hell.

_Yeah... When I woke up..._

It seemed so long ago, like when his life just began. He was angry, angry that he was himself, that he was the one that was cursed, and not someone else, with this fate. 

Lance slammed the floor of his tank with a hardened fist.

He took up his gunblade.

The anger surged through him again, coursing in his veins, controlling him once again.

**_Anything that causes me misery, I will kill._ **

_Anything but Matt..._  Inside, Lance broke down and wept.

He didn't know what he was anymore.

\-- 

He was screaming.

He had moist, crimson blood on his blade, his hands, his clothes, his face.

He had no wounds, however - he was perfectly fine, and there was no evidence of any physical harm. The blood that covered him was someone else's.

And it was from the first human he was forced to kill.

Matt screamed, running out of the complex. Yeah, sure, Brawl Royale was full of beasts and other animals, but he wasn't the only human.

He had to remind himself constantly that this was a training round, that the man would be fine, and that he would be revived.

However, he still felt terrible.

He couldn't shake off that guilty feeling, the feeling that he had committed murder.

He had only just turned thirteen, and he had already killed an innocent man, one struck with the same fate as him.

Even though it was only a memory, Matt still felt the guilt pinching the corner of his conscience.

_That bad huh..._

In his memories, he ran a hand through his hair, which was just past shoulder length, sitting down with his back against the outer walls of Brawl Royale. As he took his hand away, his hair fell in front of his face, revealing golden tinged with more red. 

Matt screamed again. He wanted to get the man's blood off him, to rid himself of all evidence that he had killed a human, one of the few of his own kind left after what he had done to survive in this living hell.

He looked back up, catching a billow of dust down the walls of the sand valley in which Brawl Royale rested in. There was a boy tumbling down the dune, his hair matted, a sword and a spear sliding down further down beside him. In his hand, he held his trademark weapon.

His gunblade, it's black blade glinting in the faint light, seemed to glare at Matt, jolting his lost memories back to life.

_Isn't that......_

\--

Lance stood on his tank, gunblade in hand. His pain was no longer existent, and instead of flames, his eyes now bore a freezing cold, one that refused to be thawed.

He loaded his gunblade again, searching for his next target.

At this point, only one question remained.

Would Matt wake up and remember, or would Lance, lost to his demons, kill them first.

\--

 


	23. XX - Hell

_He was just a boy._

_They all were._

_Even the largest of them._

\--Anthony Doerr, _All The Light We Cannot See_

 

\--

'Oh god, Matt, please...'

Matt's head lay on her lap, his bleeding shoulder supported by her hand. She whispered softly, frantically, fearing for both their lives. He was lucky that the bullet landed in his upper shoulder, or else it might have pierced his heart or lungs. A streak of blood ran down the side of his face from where his head had hit the floor. His hand lightly gripped his sword, which amazingly managed to stay with him as she dragged him across the floor. Was his sword a part of him, she had no idea.

The bleeding wasn't as bad as it was before, Natalie having healed him quite a number of times already, as many times as her dwindling mana would allow her to. Matt rested silently on her, his breaths soft and gentle, his eyes closed as he lay unconscious. Natalie had hidden themselves in the exact place she had found Matt wallowing in his sadness, just after he had been crowned king of Brawl Royale and had the entire stadium running in fear of him. It was a good hiding place, since it had taken Natalie a good hour or two before she could find him. As long as Lance didn't see where they went, all would be fine.

Natalie still wondered about Lance. He seemed to have some sort of a split personality, one that wanted to kill both of them without mercy, and the other, the real Lance, that was fighting back in a losing battle. It was as if there were two of him, trapped in one body: the boy Matt once knew, and the insane beast that they were fighting.

She looked down at her unconscious friend, her eyes pleading.

If only she knew what was going on inside his mind.

\--

Matt stood up, his hair billowing in the breeze. He stood frozen, watching everything as it repeated again in his memories.

The boy had stopped rolling, and was lying in a sprawled mess on the floor. He lay with his back on the dry sand, and he robotically shifted an arm, groaning as it slid and hit the ground. A wisp of familiarity floated from him, and it flew towards Matt, causing him wonder in confusion as he watched his memories slowly unfold.

_Maybe I should help._

Matt jogged over to the boy's side. His deep, reddish-brown hair seemed so familiar, but he didn't know why or how. As he came closer, he saw a streak of crimson red blood running down the side of the boy's head. He was relatively the same age as he was, although looks could be deceiving.

Matt bent down over the boy, speaking in his memories. 'Hey bro, seems you need help.'

The boy turned to face him, and as he opened his eyes, those unmistakable, crimson-auburn eyes, he weakly stared back at him, and as the boy spoke, begging him, it all came crashing down on Matt.

'Please, help me...'

As he stood as himself, his self from 2 years ago, his eyes widened as the tsunami of his once lost memories washed over his mind.

_Lance._

\-- 

Natalie tried to stay as silent as possible. She could hear the tank getting closer, its metallic gears grinding and its wheels clinking mutedly against the dry ground, crushing any broken concrete that lay in its path.

Matt's breaths were quickening, and he looked stressed, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His hands clenched slightly every now and then, and his mouth opened slightly as he gasped.

Natalie pulled him closer to her unconsciously, almost hugging him from behind, afraid that his breaths would be heard and for her comfort. She was worried for him, worried about what nightmares he was experiencing, and whether he would stay, trapped, in them forever.

Suddenly, he stopped. He still seemed to be enduring some kind of mental torment, and the fact that she had no way to help him pierced her.

The sounds from the tank got louder with every passing second. Matt could not afford to stay unconscious. If he could not wake up before they were discovered, they would both die.

 _Matt... Please...!!!_  

_\--_

_How... No... Why..._

He couldn't understand. He couldn't understand how he didn't remember Lance at all, and how his best friend suddenly wanted to kill the world so bad, and how he turned into a murderous lunatic.

However, Lance's recognition of him would explain why he had refused to shoot him.

Him, in particular.

As they had fought, he just realised, whenever Lance pointed the gun at him, he would shift away at the last second, shooting at Natalie or at else at thin air. Any bullets from Lances gunblade that hit him seemed to be by accident - grazing his arm, shoulder, leg, but he was never hit in the vitals.

From his observation, it seemed that some part of Lance still remained, some part that survived the rampage that his lunacy had cast mercilessly upon him.

If only he could find out what made him into this monster, and how he could help Lance, the side he once knew and once treasured, to take control again.

In his memories, the two of them were escaping Brawl Royale now. It seemed, while he was not focusing, that his memories flowed by quicker, rushing by in a wave of passiveness.

The Matt in his memories carefully stepped out of the dark, grimy passage he had led Lance through, looking around. It seemed to be safe, until he suddenly felt a sharp pain as someone pulled him down by his hair. The fear ripped through him again, the dead leaders of Brawl Royale coming back to life in his mind as they screamed at him.

_You coward! Who said you could run from Brawl Royale?!_

Lance, who was now restrained by the other leader, watched him as Matt was thrown on the ground, and he winced as the leader stepped on him, his cries piercing through his memories as well as Lance's pained grimaces. Lance cried out as Matt was lifted off the ground, the tears bleeding from his eyes as the remnants of whatever hope he had flowed out through them. Matt felt the same. However, instead of tears, his shattered hope came out through his terrified cries.

He saw the glowing blue liquid again, and he felt the same, bittersweet burn as it made its way down his system.

 _Someone... Someone wake me up... Please..._

His memories shifted faster as he floated within them. His memories, to him, had become nightmares as they rushed past, everything flowing back into him, his horrors, his pains, fears, everything he had lost the second they fed him that toxic blue liquid.

Suddenly, he heard a muffled explosion, and Natalie's echoing screams. He felt the pain return, and Natalie's cries got louder.

_Get me out of here...!!!_

\-- 

'MATT!!! WAKE UP! PLEASE!!!'

Lance, somehow, had found them, and was using his cannon to blast through the concrete that hid them. It was at this exact moment when Matt shot up suddenly, coughing and spluttering as he held a slightly bloodied hand to his mouth. Natalie, in her fear, continued to scream.

'MATT! HE'S FOUND US!! HE'S FOUND US!!!'

Matt winced at the pain in his shoulder, gripping his sword as he stood up. He couldn't register anything - the sudden return of all his memories from the past four years or more was too much.

'Lance... His name is Lance...'

Natalie quieted down, confused. 'What..?'

'Lance. We've got to save him.'

Natalie gasped at him, suddenly remembering the boy's name as Matt said it. 'What do you mean we have to save him?! _He's_  the one killing us! We've got to save _ourselves_!!!'

Matt said nothing. Gripping his sword, he burst out of their hiding place. He didn't even hear Natalie scream after him as he dashed out in plain sight.

\--

Natalie was frozen in shock.

As soon as Matt disappeared from her sight, the explosions had stopped. She wondered, for a moment, if he had died, and she herself rushed out of their hiding place.

It was a tense sight. Matt stood directly in front of Lance's tank, his sword pointed downwards as he held it, while Lance held up his loaded gunblade, his eyes widened and pained, blood streaking his face and some dripping off his hair. It was nearly as if time had frozen, and she was trapped in its midst, walking through a painted picture depicting the decision of fate of the current world.

Lance, trembling, dropped his gunblade. He looked downwards, his breaths sharp and heavy.

'Matt... Duck...'

Matt stared intensely at Lance with confusion. Suddenly, Lance slammed the tank, and flared at him, his voice a pained cry of desperation.

'I SAID _DUCK_!!!'

Lance fell back into his tank as Matt dived away seconds before the tank's cannon fired, spraying broken concrete and blasting a wave of heat behind Matt as he flew. He landed hard on the ground, sliding across the floor as the ground scraped his elbows. 

_I've got to stop him, but I can't kill him..._

Matt swung around again, his hair flying behind him and his sword glimmering in the dim light of the small flames around. Lance came out of his tank again, panting, unconsciously checking the damage done by the blast.

 _Would it help if he knew I remember him?_  

\--

Lance fought.

He fought hard.

He fought himself, mainly, as he fought Matt and Natalie.

He was relieved that Matt had woken up, and that he had not killed him. However, if they didn't leave soon, either he or Matt would die. It was inevitable. Death was always inevitable.

He scanned the broken mass of concrete, smoke and fire before him. When there was no sign of Matt, he sighed, relieved. The pain tore through him now, and he wouldn't be able to stay conscious of himself for much longer.

He didn't even know if Matt would ever remember him. Even if he regained full control of himself, he wouldn't know what to do. Loneliness was what killed him, and it would kill him again if he were to cast away this phase of lunacy. His demons would always return.

'Lance!'

He froze. It had been so long since someone had ever called him by his name. Painfully, he dragged his gaze towards Matt. He stood there, injured and bleeding, his waist-length golden hair billowing slightly in the gentle wind. 

_Did he... Does he..._

'Lance! Please, stop! Why are you doing this?!'

Lance felt his vision blur with tears, from pain or relief, or happiness, he wasn't sure. He sank down, slouching over his tank. If loneliness wouldn't hold him, his pain would take over. For him, his lunacy was his relief. It had been for the past two years, and it had become his drug.

And drugs were never that easy to let go.

'Matt... Please go...'

Unwillingly, he took up his gunblade, loading it and pointing it at Matt. Again, at the last second, he shifted it slightly to the left as he pressed the trigger. The bullet skimmed past Matt's head, and his hair flew as the bullet zipped through the air beside him. Matt hardly flinched as he stared back, his eyes begging for him to stop.

He wouldn't be able to do this much longer. Every voluntary, conscious movement he made burned him with an unbearable pain. He had no explanation for it. By right, he should have been long dead, but his lunacy kept him going like a slave driver.

_Flirt with darkness, be controlled by darkness._

Suddenly, Matt ran forward with a strange liquid in his hand. It was a cherry red, clear, like a tea.

'Take this!' He flung it, and it flew straight towards Lance. It shattered at his feet, but as the mist from it rose up, he suddenly felt a lot better. 

_What is he doing?_

While he was distracted, he heard a metallic thump directly in front of him. Looking up, he loaded his gunblade, bringing it back up to his face and aiming. The tip of his gunblade was nearly bushing Matt's forehead as he held the weapon in place, Matt having leapt up onto Valkyries front and closing the distance between them as Lance was distracted by whatever he had thrown at him.

However, he couldn't shoot. His finger hovered over the trigger as he stood, frozen in place, his hair billowing gently in the soft wind.

Matt looked back at him, his face a mixture of angst, guilt, and worry. He held his sword in his left, his right hand hidden behind his back.

'Lance, I'm sorry.'

Matt stabbed down into Lance's tank with a mighty force, the blade sinking more than halfway through his tank with an awful, scraping sound. Lance only stared at him, wide-eyed, unable to shoot. The two sides were at a stalemate as Matt stood before Lance, his sapphire eyes glimmering in the faint light. Lance could not move, he could not do anything. Matt pulled out his sword, the high-pitched screeching noise deafening both of them.

'I have to do this.'

In a split second, Matt threw whatever he held behind him into the hole he had driven with his sword. He glanced at Lance guiltily one last time, before he jumped off, hitting and rolling on the ground before disappearing.

Lance lowered his gunblade, peeping into the hole. He saw the dim, red, flashing light.

A bomb.

_Matt... What... Why..._

\-- 

Matt crash-landed onto the hard ground, landing on his injured shoulder. He screamed as the pain ripped through him.

Other than what he just did, there was no other way he could think of going about it. If he destroyed Lance's tank, hoped Lance survived, he and Natalie could take his gunblade for safety measures and then tend to him until they made sure he was completely well, mentally and physically. He couldn't just leave Lance - someone would have to die either way.

Matt skidded across the floor, taking one last look at Lance's tank.

_Please... Don't die..._

Then, there was the blast, and a beautiful flash of gold, deep orange and fiery red. Then, the shockwave came, blasting Matt and Natalie off their feet with a powerful tsunami of heat.

Thinking about it, Matt regretted. There was no way Lance could have survived that blast, not even with any aid.

_I'm so sorry..._

Hopefully, Natalie's idea would have helped a little, but as he flew across the diameter of the Brawl Royale arena, he had no other thoughts.


	24. XXI - Darkness

Lance was trapped in his own shell.

He could feel nothing but pain, he could hear nothing but a deafening ring, and he could see nothing except a blur of magnificent gold and orange as he felt himself floating through the air.

He hardly felt the impact as he crashed back onto the floor. He didn't even know he had been flying through the air. As his vision started to refocus and as the ringing in his ears dulled, so did the numbness.

Lance cried out. Partly from pain, mostly from the agony of his insanity leaving him. It was his drug - without it, he was a vulnerable, squishy worm.

He stared straight up, some blurred strands of his hair concealing some of the darkened sky. It was then when he saw bleary versions of Matt and Natalie from the corner of his eye, and heard Matt's muffled cries.

_'Please, Natalie, just heal him! Why can't you just do it? Please!!'_

_'I told you I can't! I told you long ago! We can't use any magic beyond a certain point! I spent all my magic energy healing you! And to make things worse we ran out of potions long ago and we used our last one on_ him _! Any more magic and it'll drain my energy, and you know what happens after that! I'll die!! And you won't be able to do anything!!'_

Lance could hear Matt choke down a sob. He had no idea what Matt was doing - first, he wanted to eradicate him, and suddenly he was begging Natalie to heal him. However, he was confused by Natalie yelling at Matt that they had 'used their last potion on him'.

_So was that what the red coloured thing was...?_

_'Natalie, just tell me you can heal him. Please, JUST TELL YOU CAN!!'_

_'FINE! I CAN! But I can only help one person, and you're dying as well!'_

_'I DON'T CARE IF I DIE! JUST HEAL LANCE! HE HAS TO LIVE!!'_

_Just what is he doing..._

He felt his vision going white, his pain turning into warmth as his sorrows bled from him with the blood from his wounds. He could almost feel himself floating, floating away from the pain, the sorrows of the world. He didn't mind - he had achieved his purpose, and he had seen Matt safe and sound. He didn't mind dying at all.

_So this is what heaven feels like..._

A bright, white light shone in front of him, and he reached out for it unconsciously. However, he was interrupted by what felt like a cold icicle in his heart. Slowly, he felt something like a cold fire make its way outwards from his chest. Suddenly, the white light disappeared, and his surroundings returned to his sight as he was snapped back into earth. He cried out as the pain flooded into him again, and the cooling fire enveloped him, and he sank down into unconsciousness as his pain suddenly dissipated.


	25. XXII - Light

_A kind gesture can reach a wound_

_that only compassion can heal._

\--Steve Maraboli

\--

Again, he was trapped. He had lost track of time, and basically everything else around him. He was lost, lost in his own mind as he lay unconscious, trapped within himself, although there was nothing visible restraining him.

One thing he knew as he floated around in the darkness, was that his lunacy no longer held him hostage.

He was free.

He didn't know how, he didn't know why, but he took a moment to enjoy the bliss of his freedom, to sigh with the joy of regaining a sense of control he was never supposed to lose.

He felt himself floating upwards, as if he was beginning to surface from the depths of the sea. He could hear voices, and he could vaguely begin to feel a gentle warmth around him. As he broke the surface of his sea of thoughts, he was brutally snapped out of his unconsciousness as his eyes flipped open.

\--

He faced a rough, rocky ceiling.

It was dark, but the area still glowed with the light of a fire somewhere. He could feel the warmth of its flames, and he could hear shoes scraping the floor now and then, as well as the occasional slip of a blade against hard ground.

Lance breathed, taking in the purity of the air around him. It was still slightly polluted, but much less than before. He mildly clenched his hand, taking in another deep breath. His entire body ached, though the pain was dull and mild. He still felt detached, as if he was still floating around instead of lying on the ground, a thin cloth on top of him, his back cushioned with a badly maintained mattress.

'Hey! He's awake!' He heard a girls voice, and an image of a battered Natalie came to mind. Lance sat up robotically, his back aching from stiffness and healing injuries. As he shifted his hand, he grabbed hold of a leather eye patch. (His) eye patch. Shocked, he registered that he was suddenly no longer in need of it, but he kept silent. Both his eyes were in working, if not in good, condition.

A boy ran up to him, kneeling beside him to his left. His long, golden hair flowed down in cascades, reaching his waist, his fringe messy and pushed to the side. His azure eyes stared into his, and in them brewed a mixture of relief, hesitation, joy and a multitude of questions, and with them, he started a wordless conversation with Lance.

_You're awake..._

_Yes, Matt, I am._

There was a short pause. _You're not going to murder anyone the second you move again, right?_

A smile slowly made its way up Lance's face. _No. I can guarantee that._

Matt smiled with him in unison. He reached out suddenly, pulling Lance in a tight hug. He burst out in laughter, a sound of pure joy and relief as the smile on Lance's face widened.

'Lance, you'd better tell me everything that happened. I'll make sure of it.'

Lance laughed weakly as he gripped his now useless eye patch, moving his arms up to return Matt's embrace. 'I don't think I'm the only one with explanations to do.'

Lance faced the wall not too far in front of him, counting the number of whitish scratches there were on it. Below it lay Matt's trademark sword, shining and glinting in the dim, yellow light. Matt laughed again, his joy evident and spreading even into Lance's scarred, darkened soul.

_Is it finally... over?_

On the rough, uneven wall, the scratches overlay one another, and were messily grouped in fours and fives.

He counted twenty-two.

\--


	26. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER TOOK ME A YEAR TO WRITE.  
> I hope its okay.

The trio had sat around the fire, watching the sunrise through the clearing pollution. Matt soon learned that the robot he fought at the empty army base was Lance's doing, and the empty hoards and shelves were due to Lance using them for his alter ego's world domination. Lance had told Matt his entire story, and after he had finished, Matt had looked down before moving together with Natalie, putting an arm over his back as Natalie gave him a hug. Lance had choked out an embarrassed laugh. He had never had such close contact with a girl in his life, and, flustered, he had quickly responded by waving a hand and saying 'It's all right'.

However, he had left out the part where he discovered how he caused the world to be in its current state. He decided that that could be left for later.

As it came to Matts turn to share, Lance learned about Matt's victory and why Brawl Royale was in the mess it was. He had a good laugh when Matt mentioned the earthquake and the earth splitting in two due to slicing that mysterious _Zombie Goku_  in half, hardly believing anything he said, and that earned him a good hollering from Matt. He was thrilled and terrified at the stories Matt told him of his journeys, and he was amazed at how much stronger, more powerful and skilled Matt had become over the months.

'Nah, bro,' Matt had waved him off. 'I mean, you were _scary_  back there. I still think you're tougher than me.'

Lance had shrugged in response. 'We'll see.'

Natalie hadn't said much. Apparently, she had gotten drunk over Matt's leftover champagne (possibly one of the last bottles the globe had left, Lance had noted Matt's complaining), and was busying herself with hugging Lance's gunblade. Both boys spent the rest of the day catching up with two years worth of stories that both had missed out from each other during the time they were seperated.

Which took them to now. Natalie had fallen asleep, and Matt and Lance were sitting on a long, concrete block, staring up at the now clear sky. Stars were peppered across the dark expanse, and there was a faint shade of light purple, a thin sliver of galaxy made out of billions of stars, stretching across like a belt.

'I've never seen so many before,' Lance leaned back, sighing. Matt only faced Lance, not knowing what to say, feeling sorry that his friend had missed out so much in life. He looked back down, tracing a hand around the corner of the block.

'You know, Lance,' Matt said suddenly, seeming distant. 'This was where I sat when I first saw you rolling down that sand dune.'

Lance shifted his attention away from the sky. 'Hey, yeah,' he said after a short pause. 'Wasn't there someone screaming?'

Matt stood up, sweeping the sand off a particular patch of the concrete block, revealing a dark stain of dried blood. 'That screaming was me.' He smirked.

 _('What?')_ Lance noted the dried blood. 'Hey, what happened?'

'Not my blood.' Matt sat back down and smiled reassuringly at Lance. 'I was forced to kill someone. My first human. Surprising it's still here, though,' Matt said, referring to the blood.

Lance sighed. 'Well, in a world like this, killing is kind of inevitable...'

'Yeah.'

A peaceful silence floated around them again as Lance studied the stars above, finding himself mystified by nature's wonders. He felt bad about all that time he had spent rampaging and destroying everything, but he found that deep down, still, he had a terrible dislike for human nature.

 _That can be attended to another day,_  he thought to himself.

'Hey, Lance.' Matt interrupted his thoughts. 'Have you, well, gotten any of your lost memories back? Apart from your dad... I'm sorry about that.'

Lance stiffened with a jolt. 'Ah...'

Matt shifted, turning his body so that he faced Lance, sensing his stress. 'It's okay. Just let it out. I promise you, it helps.'

Lance stayed silent. He was afraid that Matt would get angry and leave him after all the time and pain he had spent and endured looking for him. He had all the right to blame Lance for his misery anyway, and Lance couldn't find any reason for Matt to (not) get angry at him. However, he decided against his logic. After having endured everything, he felt that he had nothing more to lose.

'What if I told you that I'm the cause of the entire globe?'

Matt blinked in confusion. 'Huh?'

Lance sighed, picking up a handful of sand and letting it scatter in the gentle breeze. 'I am the reason that the world is in its current state. I am the cause of all of this mess, and I am an accomplice in the destruction of the previous space-time continuum.' Lance leaned back, folding his arms as Matt squinted at him in confusion. 'My grand uncle built a time machine, I tested it with him. We ran into a mess, he got impaled by all the flying objects, and I got knocked out cold and cursed with amnesia as we flew into what I think was a rip in time.' He paused to take a breath. 'My insanity is due to three factors. The first is when I found out I killed my father. What I told you, finding out I caused the world, is the second. The third, and the one that finally broke me, is when I thought you had died when I found that folder that that Brawl Royale leader was holding, which said your life expectancy was three days.' The more he spoke, Lance realised, the more weak and cowardly he sounded to himself. 'I assumed you had died, and there you had it, I caved in. Figured I had no more reason to live, no more reason for the current world to exist.' Lance looked up at Matt as Matt stood up, facing him. Lance did not budge. 'You can do whatever you want to me now. I suppose you have the right to do so, and I deserve it.'

Matt stood silent, staring through Lance. The two boys stood unmoving for a long time, looking like a frozen frame from a movie. Lance's mind was blank as he awaited Matt's verdict, not able to register anything, but his heart was screaming, anxious, fearful that he would lose Matt, again, after all this time of fighting for him. He almost expected Matt to scream, hit him and walk off forever, taking Natalie with him and leaving him for good. Matt's mind, in contrast, was a mess, a billion different thoughts and emotions flowing through his already damaged brain, leaving him unable to move, unable to react, his heart frozen along with his body. He didn't know what to say - to find out that his good friend had destroyed the world and cursed humanity like this, he had no idea how to respond. However, his mind wandered to his newly returned memories, and his thoughts settled on one as he decided how he would reply.

'Lance.'

Lance did not move. He continued staring at Matt, seeming almost afraid to breathe as he awaited Matt's verdict, his face a plastered look of stone-cold calm.

Matt continued. 'Remember in Brawl Royale, when I told you how I got here? You may remember, but I've lost most of it except for a few facts.'

Lance recalled as the two sat in the sick bay of the Brawl Royale complex. He remembered the giant octopus thing that attacked their ship, and how Matt escaped through the black hole that happened to appear.

'The giant squid.' Lance said to jolt Matt's memory.

'Yeah. And my brother.' He looked down, taking a slow, deep breath. 'Thinking about it, if it weren't for your giant mistake, I wouldn't be here right now.'

Lance remained silent.

'So, technically, you saved my life, and indirectly, the lives of countless others.'

Lance looked him in the eyes as Matt looked back up. 'What?'

'You know, maybe I have some greater purpose that I wouldn't be able to fulfil if it weren't for you. Look,' Matt turned around, shifting Lance's attention to the vast expanse of land ahead of them. 'There are so many people still out there, Lance. Of course, much less than there were before all this, but many need protecting. I don't mean to be self-praising, but, I've slayed countless beasts, vermin, monsters and whatnot, and I've even gotten a name for it. Imagine what would happen if it weren't for your perfectly timed mistake. All of these would still be roaming around. I mean, eventually someone would have made the same mistake you did and destroy the globe in a completely different manner. I'd rather you commit it than someone else.'

Lance looked down at his hands. He felt so guilty, so touched, so relieved. He felt warm tears sting the backs of his eyes.

Suddenly, he felt Matt's hand on his shoulder, and he looked back up, facing Matt. 'I actually find myself thanking you, friend.'

Matt took a deep breath. 'The world still needs saving, and it is now yours and my duty. So, Lance,' Matt started, smiling as he held out his other hand, 'Would you join me in my adventures?'

Lance was frozen. He stared into Matt's deep blue eyes, bluer than he remembered, his fringe falling in front of his face as a soft breeze brushed past. Matt had no other intentions, and Lance could only see his gladness and relief that the two of them were finally safe and together. Hiding his face, gritting his teeth and holding down his sobs, he took Matt's hand, and Matt pulled him up into a tight embrace as Lance held him back, tears silently streaming down his face as Matt pat his back.

'Welcome back, Lance.'

 --


	27. Afterword, Miscellaneous, etc

Afterword

I came up with many of the concepts of Brawl Royale you see here, including the leader heirarchy and the competitions etc (which I don't think I explained too well). Of course I came up with the blue potion and its effects, and Matt under its influence is definitely made up. I just thought maybe something happened to him before Brawl Royale, because looking at it he matured really quick from Brawl Royale to Bullet Heaven II (assuming the games progress in the following order: Brawl Royale, Epic Battle Fantasy, (Adventure Story,) Epic Battle Fantasy II, Epic Battle Fantasy III, Bullet Heaven, Epic Battle Fantasy IV (including premium), Bullet Heaven II), so I came up with the potion thingy. If you're wondering I forgot to mention that its effects wear off after time. (Or maybe I think he grew up fast because I joined the fandom late and binged on all the games, I don't know.)

By the way, Matt did have a brother, and he did die due to unsure circumstances. Somewhere around the ruins in ebf3, when Lance dies from whatever, Matt would yell at Natalie: 'That's not funny - my brother died that way.' so.

Matt and Lance are (not) actually as close in actual fact (though Lance is on better terms with Matt than with any other character in EBF4) as I portray them in Forsaken, and Lance's personality, as well as Matt's, is far off from the truth. Lance did not go insane either, and neither was his dad insane (although he was abusive). However, though, it is true that Lance and his father were in Minecraft together before, where his father died due to a mining accident while Lance was with him (as proven in Bullet Heaven II) and not because his sad son shot him. Of course, the world of Epic Battle Fantasy was not created by a distortion in time, because in reality it was created with Adobe Flash and a guy that had the greatest and best idea of the century. Matt and Natalie probably don't share the relationship I created for them in my book as well. Neither can you heal the enemy or talk back to them while fighting in Epic Battle Fantasy (reference chapter 20).

Anyway, here's the actual series of events that occur during Brawl Royale to Epic Battle Fantasy II.

 

WARNING: MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD - do not read unless you have completed Brawl Royale, Epic Battle Fantasy and Epic Battle Fantasy II.

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Here is the actual series of events in Epic Battle Fantasy up to the second installment, including Brawl Royale.

At the end of Brawl Royale, Matt defeats Zombie Goku, cutting him in half, and the earth splits along with Zombie Gokus body. Other people Matt meet and defeat before that that are Natalie, who uses ninja gear instead of her mage gear as seen in the rest of the Epic Battle Fantasy games. Lance is also featured, with a bandanna and no gunblade, but only in the two player mode.

There is no real storyline in Epic Battle Fantasy 1, but Matt does encounter Zombie Goku again, who looks way worse after what happened in Brawl Royale. Matt again defeats him together with Natalie, and as a result of the battle and Gokus fireball explosion (or something rather) the whole world is left in ruins (as can be seen Zombie Goku just leaves massive messes wherever he goes).

The world being in a mess, Lance takes his chance to bring the world to order by attempting to implement fascism (or whatever he wants to term 'destructive cleansing of the globe', and as quoted from Bullet Heaven II). He starts to build an army of robots, including his Valkyrie tank, and starts to lay waste to whatever is left or against him, claiming that 'Only by destroying everything can the world be rebuilt.' Matt and Natalie start their journey to save the world again after recovering in the Kitten Kingdom (after the events of EBF1, where they were believed to have died). The two defeat a robot guardian at an empty arms factory, which earns them access to the Ion Cannon, an orbital weapon in space running on naught but solar energy. This, Lance also has access to, but it is unexplained how, so the only assumption that can be made is that, since the arms factory had nothing left and all its shelves were bare, Lance had gotten there earlier than they had and taken everything, including the Ion Cannon (where later he can use the Ion Cannon as a limit break), which Matt and Natalie managed to hack too seeing it's apparent lack of security (Lance confirms this in Epic Battle Fantasy IV, where he complains after the Praetorian or Dark Lance gains access to his Ion Cannon: 'It hacked my Ion Cannon?! I should have installed that last security update!') Also, from the empty arms factory, it can be assumed that Lance did so to start stocking on nuclear weapons, and after that Lance installed the Guardian robot to keep out any people after that.

Matt does recognise Lance (who now as a boss helper in Epic Battle Fantasy II has an unexplained eyepatch on his left eye, carries a gunblade instead of a sword and spear and wears an SS Nazi uniform instead of casual clothing unlike that in Brawl Royale) when they meet, asking 'Huh, have we met before?' Lance does not confirm if he recognises Matt, and after their short conversation a huge battle ensues. The fight begins with Lance manning his tank from the inside, but after Matt and Natalie destroy the tanks cannon, Lance starts fighting directly together with a laser turret alongside him. He does have nuclear weapons (which Lance only summons after Matt and Natalie injure Lance enough for him to retreat back into his tank) and he can summon the Ion Cannon through his walkie-talkie. Matt and Natalie win after a long battle and destroying Lances Valkyrie tank (which blows up quite spectacularly), where afterwards Lance, battered and weaponless, surrenders and agrees to join Matt and Natalie. It can be assumed that Lance fixed or rebuilt his Valkyrie tank soon afterwards, for it appears again in Epic Battle Fantasy III and IV (in his limit break and Lances tank gun skill). Soon everyone becomes the best of buddies and the world has the three legendary heroes watching over it.

The end.

Now go play the game (so many ads I'm sorry)


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